So I’ve been here for over six months now. This is my life. I sometimes feel like I’m going mad and want to write and write and just vomit all the misery and loneliness onto a page in a cathartic example of brain diarrhoea. There’s a mental image for you.
I have a million blogs (well, like, four) and each one of them has slipped by the wayside. But maybe this is one I need to write. Maybe this is the diary under the bed. I can’t see me giving this url to anyone, at least not to anyone who knows me. Maybe I will do when all of this is over so people can understand what I went through. Maybe I will read it back and realise I didn’t go through anything and that my brother was right and I am a martyr. This isn’t about me, but it’s completely about me all at the same time. Maybe this will be my suicide note? Who knows.
My life does smell funny. It smells of sweat and sleep and decomposition. It smells of coffee and blankets that haven’t been washed, and a room that hasn’t been left for weeks. It’s either too hot or too cold, it’s unclean and it’s tired. Life has gone off the boil and is stagnating.
I just need somewhere to verbalise all of those “Just fuck it.” thoughts. I need to rant and complain and not feel like I’m letting anybody down or worrying anybody irrationally. I can’t put it on Facebook as my Mum will see it and I don’t need her to feel like she’s a burden. She isn’t a burden, I am not burdened by her, but it’s not a lie that I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.
I can’t put it on Twitter as my boyfriend will see and I don’t want him to feel any worse than he already does that he can’t be here with me. I don’t want him to feel that I love him any less because sometimes I can’t handle things and I wish I didn’t exist anymore. Basically, how amazing Matt is is the only thing that keeps me going – a light at the end of the tunnel if you will.
I’ll stop rambling now. This was only my introduction. Hopefully, the rest isn’t silence.