I just posted a poem about being alone and how time is the only thing that will be there for me in the end. I just wrote it, but I don’t believe it. I know better. I get overwhelmed so easily. I am depressed and anxious and on the verge of losing my mind, so it’s not hard for me to feel and expect the worst in life. Just last night I was sure that I had lost my dearest friend for no reason. Seriously, no reason whatsoever, she was simply at work and couldn’t return a call for a few hours and I bugged the fuck out thinking she must hate me and never wanted to talk to me again. Of course, as soon as she as able she spent an hour talking me down off the ledge reassuring me and making me realize that I am one of the most blessed, lucky and sincerely loved people in the world. I not only have her love and loyal friendship, but that of several other people and I need to remember that. (She pretty much threatened me that I need to remember that in her not so subtle, yet utterly adorable manner). And that’s what I’m planning on doing because when I get the way I was last night I find myself begging the non commutative spirit of my dead mother for permission to take my own life and that’s just downright not allowed. I can’t let myself get to that point. There are way too many reasons to live. There are way too many beautiful, precious and wonderful people in my life that would miss me, who would question their part and their place and who might feel not only sadness, but guilt and anger and I don’t need to bring more of those negative emotions into the world. Enough of them have been given to me; I don’t need to give them to those I love. And I won’t. It’s a long road ahead. I will learn to say that last sentence with a smile on my face and celebrate it and not as though it is a punishment.
Make good decisions.
InTrinzic Value 