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All the lines.

I finally feel better.
I talked to Shawn and it was as productive as could be expected considering my lack of understanding and ability to articulate. But I only cried a couple of times, and did not hyperventilate like I did yesterday.
I talked to my brother. I have a couch if I need it and him, which makes me feel much more safe and less like a 24 year old Carie. I told him everything I could, I hope that's okay.
I still don't know. How can I just not know?
I still want to curl up in bed for a century. Yesterday it seemed easier to let go of this life and start another. I had hoped that the damage I had done was enough, the foundation was cracked and unlivable, yesterday. Tonight it seems like it's not that bad. It feels and acts like cosmetic damage, nothing that a new coat of paint couldn't fix.
While I am assessing this wreckage of my home, I have this longing for a space heater and snow. Bundling up in 4 sweatshirts that are too big for me and someone else to complain about how cold my ass is when I am the little spoon (I am always the little spoon now).
The draw of imaginary half mast eyes and strange breath is strong. I need it just once, then I think we would both know.
The pathways that twist and turn through you, maybe I think I see all of the light that my paths are missing. It's all tricks of light, echoes of light, all that should be right that I am wrecking. There will be a time when I will hear you shout, ENOUGH! I don't know what will happen then. Perhaps I will just continue to wander this maze alone.
I will keep pestering you until I know. You are all that is good, made of better cloth than me. It still casts shadows.

7:10 p.m. - 2013-01-02


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