Little Items

With that settles,
let's talk small items.

S's driver's license, my debt, my school, my writing, his professor's agreement, his teaching and research, the summer plans the wedding.

Since nothing is going to happen by itself, it's best if we act. Other wise, I won't even have the luxury to destroy myself in despair.

Until then

Our Big 3 Items To Do

There is no light.
So in darkness we must suffer.
This will become my truth. If I am barred from the light of heaven, then I shall accept and embrace my other reality. Otherwise, living in anyway is impossible and far more difficult.

Here is to living in Sin then. S and I had a long talk today and we have decided that we have made big decisions, come to the conclusion that now is the time to act. We can't keep struggling this way. It's not doing anybody good, definitely not me and the weight is getting heavy on him, I can see it. His shoulders has sunk in. I've been lucky enough to have someone who is so willing to carry it by himself, with his own initiative, without a complaint and it's only fair that I should come to his rescue as he seems to be despairing.

We have to find and apartment and make our moving arrangements. Pay the deposits and other associated fees

we have to take care of my problem

and get on S's insurance. The other stuff are minor and can be handles in the duration of this time. Or even a little afterwards. First things first, it's an apartment we have to find, that means a lot of researching, a lot of apartment seeing and a lot of email correspondence. WE will have to come up with the deposit money and sign the lease. Only when we do this, can we move onto the other steps.

Mom

Sleeping off the foul mood I've been in, the physical exhaustion and regret over how things were between my mom and I when I was in Rochester doesn't seem to be possible at this point. No matter how great I slept, no matter the fact that I am now at home with my S, and back into my own world of comfort, familiarity and despair, it further propels my own anger with myself. Maybe precisely because, I just can't go home for a long while yet, (really, who knows when?) and won't really be able to make up.

I hate it when it progresses this way. My relationship with my mother is something of extreme importance and high value to me. I appreciate everything she has done for me, so that I could grow to be the person I am today, giving everything she's got to us, bettering our lives at the cost of worsening hers and unmentionable, unspeakable regrets, sacrifices on her part. I adore the person she is, and she holds my utmost respect in the world. She is my hero. It hurts me and it probably hurts even more still, when we're like this.

I am sorry and I know you are too. I wish I could see you now.

Night Terrors

S is sleeping, soundly on the bed, upstairs. I couldn't sleep. I keep having these nightmares for the past months that seems inescapable by now. Another one of them woke me up, I couldn't go bed. Tossing and turning doesn't help and I really didn't wish to wake S up.

Like a snake, sliding down the stairs, carefully, without a noise, I made my way into the living room. I am not particularly in the mood for watching anything, anime included. I don't want to write either. I've become quite a boring reader and quite afraid of writing. I am afraid of what's going to show up and how much of the stifling feelings I've been keeping down. I don't want to know what it is I am truly feeling and the depth of my despair...I don't want to realize it. I don't want to come to that yet. It's far too heavy of a burden and realizing that now, will only complicate things further, way too much.

I sweat away as I make these tiny calculations and the knot in my stomach grows tighter, adding one more loop and the more impossible it becomes to untangle this reality. I am afraid. I just want this to go away. I don't want to recognize anything, I don't want to realize it. Have I done the daunting task of talking it out yet? Has it all come out? Can I please get over with this? I don't want to suffer the consequences.

It's safe right next to S. But here, lions are out to get me. I am the worst predator out there. I harm myself the most. It's unbelievable.I'd like to be reminded of what Night Sleep was.

Web Based Information

I looked online for information. The handy, spiffy, elaborate internet. How useful it becomes in situations like these. It's my trusty sidekick. Especially considering all the times I've relied on internet to get me from point A to B and the extensive research I do about the unnecessary ramblings of mine. I sometimes feel like I've lost my own consciousness and purely reside in the wires of the internet. Ive become less than a 2 D, 1D seems to describe me pretty efficiently nowadays as I keep losing more of myself.

The information is out there, disseminated neatly, packaged, outline, resourceful and in a manner that answers all kinds of questions one may ever come to possess. It does everything it's supposed to. Why can't it quell the fires of my soul and calm my nerves. Why can't it convince me to act? Why do I keep stalling and it's not necessarily because I don't want to. It is true. But we really don't have the means and everything I hear, pushes me to the other line.

Walking Madison by step

I took a long walk today. A very long way in Madison. I walked all around Lake Monona, then Lake Mendota. I walked around the Regent Neighborhood, Shorewood and Blackhawk. I walked all the way to Target then in my old neighborhood on the way back. I crossed over the Monroe St. and walked by Vilas Zoo. Here I am. I spend the whole day walking like a crazy person, that's frantically seeking answers from the faces of strangers and by walking Madison's each street. As if that was going to give me the courage and the answers we needed, I needed.

I thought and thought, went into the deep and came up to the surface and I tried to justify what I have to do to the world and perhaps the world would come to understand. Perhaps they can come to accept my action but understanding is very unlikely. But, I know that I have to do this particular thing. Logically, this is our only viable option. Don't you like that phrase, "viable option"? It's really no option at all. The only path that' been forged and what I really would like to do is not something I can dare to do. Definitely, something S is definitely not prepared to do and definitely not something he can weather through. I don't want to put him in this awful situation and bring shackles to his education where it doesn't belong. I'd like him to focus on himself, because that's exactly why he is here and what he needs to do. I'd hate him to look back in the future and regret the decision we now will make, because of only what I purely want, and think of it as obstacles that were arbitrarily brought upon by my stubbornness and the choices I've made as a couple. I don't ever want it to become that way.

But this is really not what I want to do. I really can't bring the justification to be accepted in my heart and the cancelling each other out is bringing me down on my knees, quite literally.

How do you do something you despise?

By the time I came home it was long past dinner time. Since I don't have a phone, it was a long time S worried about me.

The Day After Tomorrow

It seems the voyage out here was even more difficult and damaging than I thought. I am exhausted so much that I slept till three in the afternoon. I had horrible nightmares and waking up was beyond a possibility. I have no appetite.

S is at work, working hard, and here I am, laying out like some sheep out grazing. My head hurts by all the thoughts in it and I can't seem to untangle anything I would like to. This is becoming a problem because we have to act, sooner rather than later for the well being of everyone involved and I can't get myself to that.

Hello Madison

And to my luck, the train boarded several hours late, which it could not catch up in between Rochester and Chicago and by the time I arrived, the only possible bus to catch was the 4 o'clock bus where I got home at 8. It took me nearly 24 hours to travel from Rochester to Madison.

I am beat, my arms hurt, and it is seriously cold here. I think I froze the whole way here. Losing a white camisole along the way is even more aggravating. But at least now I am home. The only thing I could do is unpack and maybe to stuff a bite in my mouth. I am exhausted and sleeping is all I can manage to do.

Waiting to Board the Train

Today is the day I leave Rochester. I will board the train at 11 p.m. in Rochester and arrive at Chicago at 11 a.m. If I am lucky and the universe decides to be giving and caring towards me, I will catch the Van Galder bus at 12:30 and be home by 4:30, greeted by my sweet, sweet, S!

Until then, bored of Cable TV

Anticipating Madison

I know I shouldn't. I really do, but I can't help it. Tomorrow, I am leaving for Madison, that means I won't get there until the day after tomorrow. But that's okay, I am desperately excited, nervous and so tremendously happy to be going back home. Home to S, to his eyes that seems to be smiling at me, his sweet, sweet lips, his warm embrace and the beautiful soul he possess. To Madison that smells of happiness and all that sappy crap that I keep holding onto in my dreams.

My relationship with my mother here has been rocky, most likely underlining several causes that begins with me and several with her. There is now more than ever before holding me tightly in Madison, and the fact that my discoveries in the last month has led me to be so secretive, guarded, sad and being out of my mind, in the midst of this depression and being my usual delusional self has not made things any easier. Oh, me crying for no reason and any reason at all, all hours of the day has also made everyone, including me rather uncomfortable. It definitely hasn't done anyone any good. It further has hurt my mom and have saddened her that she thinks this is entirely her fault. For that, I am sorry. But there is definitely something going on with my mom that it is also effecting her. I am just not sure what that is. I have guesses, but I am not going to go on about those on here, because well, it's just not appropriate to intrude in her own, private and very necessary life.

Without any additional books, not being able to access the outside world, having limited means of transportation and the world, being without S has dampened everything and not in a sexy way.

But, I can't help it. Even with the distance, the disappointments and the lack of connection I was able to receive this time around, I still love my mother very deeply. And still, I can't help being so excited and extremely happy about returning home to my one and only S.

Awaiting to board the Train to Chicago

Hello Spring

Hello Spring,

Technically, scientifically, you're here. Factually, evidently, you're far off on your own land, still not ready to come out, grace us with your presence. You're lost, perhaps with the Southern winds, enjoying the warm sun and a glass of Shiraz so thoroughly, you forgot us entirely.

Come closer to us, my bones have gone frigid and in dire need of a bit of warmth, right here, where it matters.

It'd be nice if you just melt away the accumulated sun, really. It's been brutal and I'd like to play outside...on a second talk, not so actively, but, still, vaguely, without being seen.

Dreary Rochester

Rochester is severely dreary and definitely overrated. There is absolutely nothing to do here.

ALL these oppressive feelings that keeps depressing me further finally came to a halt as it culminated and released in a meaningless tear jerker fight between my mom and I. There wasn't many other possibilities for it be released and of course, as always the worst case scenario with me.

Days in Rochester

The feelings I have that keep festering right at my throat as I am here, now, under the careful watch of my family, that interprets every action in hopes of understanding and relating to me, it a bit difficult to handle at this circumstance. I keep wondering if they know, if they understand, if they can tell and how mortified I would be if they did. I am reminded severely of the terrible consequences of reality, of fact, of what I have done and what I will have to do. The severity of my sin rather concerning to me. I feel doomed to fail and condemned into hell, never to get out, burn throughout eternity in bits, over and over again, entirely. I am ashamed once more and I feel Hades' grip on my ankles tighter and my soul blackened a bit more.

I feel like the mouse that's been cornered. No where to go. The problem is several hundred times bigger than my physical size that overwhelms me physically.

I am reminded once more that, they just can't know, and they can never find out. No one can if I am at all to save my self respect and dignity.

"The Awakening" by Kate Chopin

By no means is this a literal essay, review of the work written by Kate Chopin titled "The Awakening".

I just miss reading it. I gave a copy of it to my mom long ago, my only copy in hopes that she would read and return it to me. But it doesn't seem like she's touched it, or will touch it in anytime soon. I am just going to have to buy another copy. Asking her for another one feels too much of a work and I don't want her to misunderstand me. She can't even find where she put it. That means I can't read it while I am here either.

I miss Edna Pontellier, the beautiful descriptions and the carefully places narrative summary in it. I miss the emotions she evokes and the thundering thoughts that spark within me. I miss the way the novel makes me think, rethink and relate to the world once more, to women in specific.

Here's to Chopin's beautiful writing!

St.Patrick's Day

Happy St.Patrick's Day.

It's unfortunate that the way they spend St.Patty's day in Ireland vs. the way they spend it here, but it is nonetheless one of my favorite times of the year. In general, I love March, because it means that Spring will be here shortly, the weather is warming up and that sick snow that's been getting muddier by the day, will slowly melt, much to my pleasure. It will dwindle away, and watching it dwindle away brings me great joy! Soon, the rain will begin and I could be in my element once again.

Considering my admiration of the Irish Culture and it's impressive Literature, Mythology and History, St.Patrick's day has a special place in my heart.
It's the end of the night and the time to read Táin bó Cúailnge accompanied by a tall glass of Smithwick's and Gaelic Storm.

Disappointed

Tomorrow is St.Patrick's Day. Two years in a row, I've ended up in Rochester when I really wanted to be in Madison, Chicago or Milwaukee. How does that even happen, especially with no prior planning to make it this way?

I was really looking forward to celebrating St.Patrick's this year with S at Chicago, at the very least in Madison, catching the State St.Parade and hope to engage in the whole traditional, amazingly disgusting beer and whisky consumption to the max as the Americans do on St.Patrick's Day.

I am disappointed and hurt by so many things since I've came here that I don't think I am getting better, though I am definitely motivated to return and get things started once I get there, that this, the whole missing St.Patrick's had made the icing on the cake.

There is something off, different, distant and further descending between my mom and I. I can't quite tell what it is. But I wish I knew...on second thought, I am not sure if knowing anything will actually change anything. Anything at all.

So, here's to swallowing some cheap wine my mom has with my disappointment.

Cheers,

N

When you're gone

I went to go back home already. This feeling of missing, being far away. I'd never felt this way before, with any of my paramours.

I feel uncomfortable sleeping, the mornings are no where near as chirpy as they are with you, S. The days are a drag. My only motivator and what I look forward to most is you to coming home at the end of your extremely long day, get on Skype so I can see your face; those round eyes that disappear when you smile. The passionate, crystal clear look of your eyes, that are always loving and kind towards me. The sound of your voice that echoes in my heart. The curve of your lips. The small teeth that imprisons your delightful tongue. I miss the inappropriate, humorous and long jokes you make, the never ending stories that always parallel to mine.

Your inexhaustible talent for creating active, interactive and lively conversations. Though, not always polite as you cut me off often, without waiting for me to finish. You're patient in all areas otherwise.

The way you smell.

I should go home...soon.

End of Rochester

And I am through all that Rochester has to offer me. I am stifled. Without the possibility of traveling on my own, I feel restricted from participating among the day walkers, also rejected from the society as we know them. There is nothing around where my parents live, and I feel imprisoned to the house, simply because I cannot leave when I desire to do so. It feels like all kinds of my freedom are taken away from me, simply by being here.

Howard's End came to an end and I unfortunately didn't bring extra books with me, and now I am hung out to dry. I am baffled by my light packing for the first time. Why didn't I bring more books? What will I do without my writing utensils, my book list?

Rochester, you suck monkey balls. I miss my S, our apartment, my own bed, our kitchen and the bright Madison, where people mingle with others. The sun that glances at Madison, the ability to walk and take the bus, or bicycle anywhere you wish. The Energy of Madison, the community of smiling faces and the fresh air by the lake.

Missing Madison

:(

S, I miss you. Very much. I miss sleeping on the same bed with you. I miss the way you greet me as you enter through the door, at the end of a day, everyday, with the same enthusiasm, unchanging. You're the one constant good thing in my life that never fails to deliver. A daily dose from you and, life is everything there can be, should be.

I miss the scent of your tobacco that mixes in effortlessly with your cologne. I like the scruffy beard you have. I like the way you hold on to me as we sleep at night and how you say good morning, every morning, without a hitch.

I like seeing your brown eyes that are such a different color that it's hard for me to describe. Looking at them are like looking at the eyes of an innocent child, who is so precocious and excited to experiment. Still, untainted and wholly sincere, with his whole heart open to bear everything, never having the reason to mistrust anyone ever.

I like how you play around, goof off, to the end, even when you know you've gotten me upset. But you know, each time, how to be forgiven.

Ponder This

It's a little awkward to think about this. But there will be 26 years between me and this baby, my uncle's first born. That is a huge gap, to say the least between cousins to have. It's a little apprehensive to think about. My children and my uncle's children will be around the same age group. I am pretty sure it defies laws of all kinds, many along the way, but it's hard to wrap my mind around it.

There is only 8 years between my uncle and I. There are 12 years between my mother and my uncle. I guess when you combine the fact my mother married young and had me young (she had me at age 20) and my uncle had his relatively late (in comparison to my mother) the gap widens and now our children will belong to the same children as opposed to me and his children being in the same age group. It's a little ghastly to think about. I guess it's even further awkward to think about that generally, I should have had children already by this age. It helps that I haven't and am not thinking about doing so yet.

Ah, the reproduction timing of families

Grandparents

My grandparents have floated up with the helium of happiness that has been cruising in their veins. Considering that there will be 26 years between me and this new baby, that is kind of expected and normal I am assuming. Of course, considering I don't even have children, my assumptions don't particularly hold much of a weight.
Not to mention, this baby will be their youngest child's baby. It's almost like a rite of passage, a monumental moment in their life, transitioning into old age All of their children have been married and now having kids. They feel that their mission in life, obligations have been fulfilled and now can turn to themselves.

In Rochester

Rochester as always is its boring, oppressive, gray self. The landscape reminds me of an industry town in mid 70s.

I've never been able to catch happiness here. I am not particularly sure why, maybe because it's always so gloom here and the sun forgets to pass by on it's way to the south. Perhaps it's the sheer fact that there is a huge Turkish community here, increasing my chances of running into one, and the conservative culture that comes with the statistics is what suffocates me. Perhaps its the fact that there is very little to do, walking around is not appreciated and public transportation simply doesn't exist. Or maybe it's the fact of emotions and feeling like you belong, versus feeling like you don't belong. I've never felt at home, and perhaps it's as simple as that. Why I never felt that Rochester was welcoming towards me is another question to ponder.

At least I have Howard's End to keep me company.

Happy 33rd, Uncle

It's my uncle's 33rd birthday. My uncle is only 8 years older than I am. It's a bit eerie to think about and, also, gross. Evidently, he is an accident baby of my grandparents. But having an uncle so young has been one of my greatest gifts. I have two uncles, and the uncle in question is the younger of the two. Having two uncles who adored, admired and loved me to bits has helped me regularly, as it would any child.  They are two of the greatest male examples I've had in my life. They're caring, humorous, kind and equipped with a good heart, well intentioned. Over the years, they've selflessly sacrificed much and have also been sacrificed for.

Happy Birthday, to many more, loving, healthy, happy and miraculous years.

Berra's Baby Shower!

I'm back at Rochester for Baby Berra's baby shower! My uncle and his wife will be having a baby girl, their first child. My grandparents are over the moon, as if this is their first grandchild.

The baby shower turn out was well, food was great and although I hate the color pink, it was fun to see pink adorning every possible thing this time around. I do wish they would have used another color scheme.

It's amazing how ignorant people could be and when it suits them cease their courteous niceties because they wish to act a certain way on someone else's dime. But that's Turkish people for you. They just love to make others uncomfortable and bend the rules to suit their own needs, whatever the time, whatever the occasion and whatever the people.

But this is another testament to my mom, whose intelligence never ceases to amaze me and her absolute determination to make something out of nothing and make sure it is successfully completed. Her hard work, careful maneuvering and smart solutions to tough problems, I am happy to have such a strong woman as a mother. I've been truly blessed.

No matter how hard, depressive and difficult things may be, she is always the optimist, always holding on until the storm is over.

The Last Train to Rochester

Today is the day I leave for Rochester. I will arrive at Rochester early in the morning tomorrow and then go over for Berra's shower. Yep, they are the same day. I am planning on staying for one week, though I might just end up coming back earlier or perhaps later.

It feels awkward to be leaving S behind, like I am leaving the warmth of my heart here, in Madison. The further this gets, the more difficult it is going to be for me. My mom in Rochester and S back here. I am going to be terribly divided between the loves of my heart.

I had never felt this way when I was leaving M behind. I guess this is what makes this relationship so different and unique then my previous ones. Everything ends and begins again with S. His own personality and the value he attributes to me. The sheer willingness he possess to make things work and his way of showing his emotions, emphatically, affectionately without reserves, limitations or restraints. Free and deep. It's like a cloak I like to wear at all times. His love has become my second skin, I can't seem to do without.

The last time I went to Rochester it was with S and IL, which was an adventure by itself, different than my travelings before. This time it feels hollow to be traveling by myself--something I've done dozens of times. It feels lonely, for the first time. Time just won't go by.

Getting on that bus, I was a slushy, teary mess. It felt like I was leaving him for eternity, that's how long the upcoming weeks felt like to me.

Pack Up

I will be traveling soon and have been packing up my bags for my upcoming traveling to Rochester via train. Train again, because well simply I couldn't be bothered to look for tickets before due to the severity of my depression once again. Now, I have to pay for that by traveling with the train, go through the strenuous activity of baggage claim, luggage carrying, and putting up to be in the train for 12 hours. The wounds of my heart tell me this is a bad idea, perhaps it is. For now though, I am looking forward to seeing my mom in her cheery spirit and warm embrace. Her magical way of making me feel better, without realizing it.

Packing up here like this has particularly brought specific images from a while ago when everything about the past came to the surface. Like this, frantically, I was packing everything into my suitcases, as much as I could fit it in there, just wanting to get away from here, these actions that have tempered with my feelings and walked all over my pride that I have so highly regarded all of these times. This time the reason why my bags are being packed is different. I am not looking forward to getting away from all of this. A time off, might be nice though. A good test to see the truth and depthness of feelings on both ends, all around for all of the parties involved.

I am not going to lie when I say that I am not relieved to see the differences between packing my bags. I don't think I could go through the same reason, ever again. My heart has never been fragile one, but it will be for a second repetition of that. It's taxing of my body, of my soul and mind. It's time consuming and a hatred seed that flames all the unholy feelings within a vessel.

It's also good to see that the person I have chosen is decided, enduring and is ready to make sacrifices and ready to pull the weight if necessary, by himself. It's just as important to see that he is understanding, kind and generous. His warm heart is where my soul can comfortably nestle in when it needs to be rested and protected.

Upcoming Travel To Rochester

Berra's shower is coming up. I have to travel to Rochester. In a way this is going to probably set me back as I will have laxer conditions, no ability to go whatsoever to the outside world without the handy car of my mom, which is always with her due to her own business. It could be conducive to start reading seriously once more. It would give peace to my inner world once more, at least enough to quell it.

Though I am afraid to travel. I don't want to travel in this condition, thought that might be the best thing I need yet. Have the ripples settle down and come in to some sort of understanding, mutual exclusivity that holds my heart down. Some contact with the outside world might me what I need to realize the truth and accept reality, after all.

I don't want to be in Rochester in this condition, but I don't want to miss this opportunity to be there for my mom, for Banu and Berra. It is also going to be the first time I am going to be leaving Salih at home, by himself for a long time, without being able to see him. I don't know how we're going to react to these premises. I am a little nervous, a little excited and a little sad.

Rochester, wait for me.

Strained

It's really straining to write here like this. Without being thoroughly sincere. Without having any kind of muse to write about what it is that I should be writing about. I am so afraid of what will come out at the end of any kind of writing exercise that I stick to blogging and blogging only. Even at that, I am horribly failing. It's like the Gods have set this tennis match with me being against blogspot. Blogspot is winning and I am in my corner, perspiring like a pig and knowing there is no chance of winning, I've given up, doing it for the sake of some sort of regulator in my mind.

It really is straining to do this. My eyes have nearly closed, the lines are blurry, and my fingertips hurt from pressing on the key board and deleting everything. They find their way without a hitch, so carefully. I like the sound of the keyboard as my fingers press on them. It feels comforting. I don't like the sound of the enter though. It's too hard, too rough. It's like the barbarian I have become. In any minute, I will regress back to being a neanderthal.

Why do I even do this anymore? It's clear that I have nothing constructive or of value to say. Or even when there is, I skip over it and get stuck over the depressive and mundane. I can't seem to be able to write anything good. I can't seem to be able to write anything necessary, important and of note worthy. Something that would actually draw an audience. I keep babbling on and on, about, I don't even know what.

I need a wake up, I keep getting it. Though I can't seem to release myself of my own nightmare demons, I've created myself and in it, the biggest devil is still me. I'm sick of this. It's a repeating cycle.

This is straining. Trying to fill in my word count, and always failing anyway. What's the point? What's the point of writing, of this blog, of filling my daily word count goal. What's the point of talking about things that don't matter?

It's straining to be talking about something, anything at all.

Vomitting

I haven't been sick like this before. Is vomiting so horrible? God.

No, I am not really going to talk about vomiting, I promise. Today, I learned the word sincere comes from Latin, meaning without wax. It used to be that people who would dilute wine with water or other sort of a thing would seal it back with wax. Since that, it is obvious the word has gone through some evolution to mean what it means today. It has come to mean pure, and true.

Here's the tidbit of the day.

Already

It's March, already? I haven't done anything. Where did it all of it go? The time? The books I was supposed to read. I feel like a bleached, dirty mop. The wondrous feelings of joy, of enjoying being engaged socially, officially and into the nights. The celebrating phase, where we're supposed to be partying it up at dinners, get-togethers, parties and what not. Where did all of that go? Oh, right, because I just couldn't get myself to do anything as we returned from Rochester and learned of our devastating news. I've slumped and although I want to get out of this slump; at the very least change the circumstances of my slump, it just feels too draining to even decide. My hair follicles hurt, my arms feel heavy and sleep  has this torturing grip on me that it's just never enough, but it further erodes my soul.

What do I do? It isn't just easy to get up, open the blinds and let the fresh winter air come in. Sometimes I wish I had that much energy. Getting up to shower feels like a chore to me. I don't see the point, I'll just get dirty once again. Sleeping, waking up, going to bed, anything.  I feel out of touch and such incoherence is taking in my soul and mind separately that the ripple effects are astounding and gives me concussions. I am afraid to take a step back, I am even more afraid to take a step further. Action feels the worst. Taking that next step will change my life forever; whether for best or for worst is unknown at the moment. But I am afraid of what's to come when I do take that action. Such incomprehensibility that I just don't know what's going to happen. Not knowing, how this would effect me psychologically  terrifies me. And all of that horrid feelings of horror, fearing of the change, fearing of what it would make me and being cloaked in sin that I've seem to be immobilized by what is going on in between my mind and heart.

But  I have to get out of this. This hole of abyss that is leading me into hell--inevitably that is where I will end, but at least until then, I must see the world once more.

Hello March,

Hello March,

Will you be good to me? Will you lend me an ear and hear my revolt, will you join hands with me and unite against this scream of anti capitalism? Will you come and aid my suppressed emotions and thoughts so that I can be free once again, of any real substance, any real truth, any real responsibility and revert back to being a semi adult? I'd like that.

March, bring me promises of good behavior and an the signs that this illness will be cured, relieved of its nasty symptoms and I will be fully prepared for the upcoming battle of spring.

The crazy woman in me wants to disappear within myself, bring a little house forth, with everything in it. Have it all to myself, enjoy it thoroughly, to all the way to the end.

The other end is ashamed of such thoughts and the glimmering hope of that future.

So be kind to me, will you?