I need to write.
I think this a novelty. I think there is an end. I think there is only so much one can take. I think I’m not myself. Who lives up here in these hills? Here, I can leave my hurt, my shame. Its hard to write that word, ‘shame’. It takes some deflation of pride, doesn’t it? But it gets better as I type this. I leave my shame on this unknown road. And my hurt. But I know it will follow me, like a dog. It will find its way home, and I will hate it all the more for it. I hate this. But I know in my heart that its over. Nothing, no more. I want… no more. I want too much, but not the chase. It tears at my heart too much. No more. Whoever is out there, whoever listens, please, no more.
I am not myself. That’s the most horrible of things to be.