msjessica's Diaryland Diary

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you don't want to kill yourself, you're a writer

it starts to feel like for almost every part of the year, i have an excuse to be fucked up.

every time starts be the anniversary of some trauma or another, or it is the full moon or it is almost the full moon or it just was the full moon or i'm probably getting my period in two weeks or two days or it's late or i've

rarely lately do i just let myself say i'm fucked up.

i see tonight that every single i thing i do for the last however long is just escaping my own reality.

drinking fucking worrying smoking eating texting watching scrolling masturbating working, everything so fucking subconsciously, i am TERRIFIED to acknowledge realities.

the moments it hits me i'm squirming in bed howling and wailing my nose all blocked up my hands as tight fists my fucking chest imploding or i'm on a tram standing up with headphones and sunglasses on and tears streaming down my face or in a way too hot shower silent screaming to the sky as my skin starts to glow

my dreams are probably what i pay most attention to. like they are the answers instead of just opening up my fucking eyes and acknowledging the world around me.

every part of my persona is a disguise, i do not know how to be truthful

i also have such a fucking jumbled up idea of what being truthful even fucking means

is that truthful about my job aspirations and what i want to do with my life

do i believe in that?

is it truthful about things that are happening within my family, about natural life, change, decay, entropy, the inevitable fact that everything i have known and loved will be taken away from me to be replaced by something i will likely come to love just as much in a different way while still having attachments to all that was before

meaning there are more anniversaries of things to be fucked up about so i will rely less and less on the moon or my own cycle

is that why women have fucking menopause because there comes a time in a womans life when she has seen enough fucking shit to be having an anniversary of trauma every fucking day and if you were to add pre or post menstrual hormones on top of that would just be a whole new level of sadism

but actually i guess is menopause like the big final trauma and then we are reborn in a way we are no longer of use, we serve no other natural purpose than to share our wisdom love and care

god women are beautiful/

-

but yet another truth that the only important thing is our relationships with others, to learn to give love and to learn to be loved.

i think i tried to communicate so many of my new findings about love in this most recent tryst and god i failed dismally, did i? did i? i have not been present enough to tell, if life flashes before you when you die, do i get to see all of my blackouts? some of my most beautiful and truthful moments have been the ones only others could bare witness to (and i should really care to witness too) as i forget them upon wakening, just like a dream, but with a lot more shame embarrassment and regret and less of me being in control. but certainly they are some of my most truthful, as i am operating outwardly with absolutely no censor and no understanding of consequences.

so sure of course i keep chasing my truth at the bottom of a bottle, like maybe next time it will be different, next time i'll still feel so intensely in the morning, i'll remember all the love and honesty i found in my heart, or i'll be able to speak my anger truthfully, or i will love more completely.

i watched a film after smoking a joint tonight - a b grade film, and i am not very good in my head after smoking pot...... but it and one previously, without even knowing it what i needed was exactly what i got. i made peace with the fact that i am in a bit of pain, and that there are reasons for the pain, it's ok to feel. watching my mother how she is lately, i think she is the product of living in an escapist mind for a whole life. it breaks, eventually, reality (which ONE, what is the most important thing??????) is relentless.

all of them, i guess. again, to think of the crisis my mother is in, it is all facets of her realities that are crumbling. where to live who to love what to do why do any of it but how could i do anything..... new?


10:05 p.m. - 2016-02-01

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