Here I am. There is a party going on around me, but I don't belong. In my own home I am a stranger, a bit of furniture that may stick out, but is not even a distraction. Here I am, making a personal space of the most public non-space in the world... maybe. I feel like shit. I can best describe my feelings and behavior as frantic, manic. My dad asked me tonight if he should be worried about me being suicidal. I am not. But I suppose I've experienced a different kind of dissociation. Talking to my friends about it was much easier (still practically impossible I doubt I made much sense) than talking to him. And even then I couldnt see him and say it.

I am doing the only thing I can do right now. I don't feel like I have to explain myself. I feel like I can't. How do you explain not being able to be with someone you love? All I know is that it doesnt feel right. And I could only hurt myself and him if I got back together when I don't know that it's the right thing to do. It's not like the first time, when holding hands was merely risking embarrassment, and not complete rejection.

I am not making sense, I cannot write poetry. I am not myself. I am surrounded by college freshman, but there is no way I can talk to them. I'm not even embarrassed, I just feel like I shouldnt be here. I don't want to talk to them, I don't want to be here. I don't have anywhere else to be though. I could drive somewhere. I could call someone. I could do a lot of things in theory. But in practice, nothing will do. I don't want to have another conversation about it, and yet I find every conversation leading me there.

I cut my hands on a broken picture frame. The paper in the frame actually said "Commitment phobic?" I shit you not. I cut up my newly manicured hands. I was manically cleaning the house, it now shines. however I have bandages on each hand. Maybe it's a sign. Maybe when I try to do something for myself, I'm bound to screw it up and hurt myself. I don't know where the shoebox with the shards of glass are. I hope they are far away, not because I think I would hurt myself on purpose, but because I feel like I got away easy with just a few scrapes on the surface, and yet absolutely destroyed inside.

I make no sense because I have no direction. Don't feel bad for me. I'm the bad guy.
and i'm suffering.

shut up and leave me alone.