Soldiers of the Night

Ugly demons patiently waiting,
Singing an eerie tune all day:
"It's time to come out, it's time to play,
as soon as the sun sets,
we'll be on our way."

In the innocence of the night,
anguish lurks beside misery.
Calamity plots it's wrath,
and affliction plants it's seed.

The slumbering lie in undisturbed stillness,
ignorant to thirsty foe,
ready to consume their vulnerability.

Behind fragile eyelids,
unsuspecting, they dream.
A most perfect prey,
to merciless predators unforeseen.

Graciously asleep, each breath a whisper.
If only they knew, just how lucky they were.
Overcome by jealousy,
are the insomnious slaves of the night.

Insomnia chooses its subjects carefully,
bestowing upon them a duty
to obtain balance and
maintain a strict delicacy.

There is a battle to be fought,
in the shadows before dusk.
For we are the soldiers of the the night,
condemned to reap the wrath of it's creatures.

Yet, this martyrdom is not of choice,
but is in fact rather unwilling.
Without consent or trial, we are sentenced
to face the evils of twilight.

Courage is not instilled by a forceful hand,
but instead willfully decided.
Such force ineffectual-
no battle can be won
with an army unwilling to fight.

And so the battle our ancestors lost and
a battle we do not wish to revive.
For we stand not a chance
against well adapted monsters that thrive.

Soldiers no more,
only mere witnesses.
Helpless bystanders hostage to the darkness,
ambiguous to our confinement,
pleading for a good sleeps graces.

Two Types Of People

I believe that there are two types of people in this world.

Person #1	Person #2
Career focused Foresees wealth, big houses, and expensive cars in their future Family is a possibility for them later down the line, if at all.	Family focused Foresees a spouse and children of their own Knows they need enough finances to do so, but doesn't value all the riches in the world over building their own family

Real quick, here's a very vague scenario to get my point across. There are two men named Brad and John, both twenty-one, both just recently starting new relationships, and both working at the same job in New York (let's call it a successful company with equal opportunity for growth). Brad gets a phone call at work- there is a job opening in LA with a higher paying salary and they are interested in meeting with him. Without a thought, Brad accepts the offer and will be on a plane to catch an interview that weekend. As John is getting ready to leave the office, he too gets a similar phone call but asks if he can get back to them. He's hesitant because he just started seeing someone and feels it has potential to go somewhere. He's content with the amount of money he earns and he could support a family of his own if needed. He talks to his girlfriend, calls back the company, and declines the offer. In case you hadn't come to the conclusion yourself, Brad falls under the explanation of Person # 1 and John under the explanation of Person #2.

The scenario may be very black and white, but the bluntness completely supports the concept. You are either a person who looks at your future and first sees a career, or first sees a family. Not saying you can't want both a family and success, because you can (I do), but it is simply not attainable simultaneously. Brad will move to LA if he gets the job and that will be the end of his relationship with his girlfriend. Meanwhile John, decides to stay with his girlfriend and thus further opens the possibility of building a life with her. He values the potential of his relationship over the higher paying job. Brad does not see it this way.

With all that, this jibber jabber leads me to a more pressing and personalized subject. In an attempt to decipher why I can more easily envision myself bearing children as opposed to being the CEO of a large company, I came up with this two types of people theory (although I'm sure I'm not the first to think, write, or share the idea). I am well aware of the complexity and individuality of every person, but I don't think it's unrealistic to say that we can all place ourselves under one of these two simple categories.

I'm a 19 year old young woman, understandably still searching for a profession, still trying to earn self sufficiency, and still unsure of what my future holds for me. When I try to envision my life five years from now, it opens the floodgates to so many fears and unknowns. Yet in the midst of all the chaos there is a resolute vision of all the things I am certain I do want. All in relation to a spouse and children; a family.

I want to stumble into someone absolutely unexpectedly and I want to fall madly in love with them in a way I am most pleasantly surprised. I want a feeling so strong that every heartache, tear shed, and moment of loneliness was all worth the journey that brought me to the man by my side. I want to finally understand, as opposed to anticipate, why it never worked out with anyone else. I want to find someone that exceeds every expectation and makes me laugh in disbelief that I had ever been with anyone else. I want to be so in love that I wake up every morning unable to fathom how I got so lucky as to call this man, "mine". I want to exchange vows and boldly dare the universe to try to separating us, with not a single fear that it actually could because we were invincible together. I want us to single handedly be responsible for the creation of new life and I will be so honored to protect and carry that life until our baby is ready to meet the world. I want to do this not just once, but multiple times. I want to build a sturdy empire. I want to raise our children in a manner that I can present them to the world in confidence that their presence will make it a better place. I do not want them unfamiliar of unconditional love, for I want them to be born into arms that will never make them question their belonging. When I'm a mother, I will be a great one. I say that with unwavering faith because I know every hardship I have ever overcome holds more purpose than for my own self-growth. I will carry these experiences with grace, to and past the day that motherhood is blessed upon me. I will turn to my past times for strength and knowledge, an advantageously use them to be the best mother I can possibly be. Excitement washes over me just thinking about it all. I know it's a lot to want but I also know that no matter what happens, I will make always make due and that the best is yet to come.

How is it however, that at such a young age, I feel that I have the right to even ponder these things, let alone be so eager for this undetermined future? I've been finding myself drooling over babies and daydreaming about a man that says, "Honey I'm home", when he walks in the door. I snap out of these thoughts concerned because I have hardly even started my life yet. Just like when I was a little girl and people used to ask me what I want to be when I grew up- the answer always changes because I'm so interested in so many things! I don't want to work in retail my whole life and I certainly don't plan on finding a man to rely on because I most definitely don't want to be dependent.. So knowing all this, why am I even wasting time thinking about a husband and kids when they are light years away?

Why am I watering these thoughts when there is currently no room for the roots to grow?

The answer is simple. It's because I fall under the category of Person #2. It took me all this rambling to realize that it's simply in my nature and that these thoughts are inevitable. As long as I'm not running around trying to get knocked up, these thoughts are exactly just that- thoughts. No need to worry and no need to go off on a tangent that I'm abnormal for having them. I may not know what career to chose or where I will be five years from now, but there is nothing wrong in knowing where I want to be.

I'm not saying that my only goal in life is to be a wife and a mother, but if I find myself with a baby in my arms and a ring on my finger five years from now, I can't see a single reason why I wouldn't be a happy woman.

An Evergrowing Abyss of Unanswered Questions

It's 3:07 A.M. Here I sit in a dark room with a glowing laptop upon my thighs; typing my thoughts in an attempt to organize them.

After all these years and all the long hours of pondering, self reflection, self contradiction, and an ever growing list of questions with no answers, I wonder if I will ever find what I'm looking for. Maybe I never will and all I'll have left are a bunch of useless questions, burnt bridges, and untied loose ends. I actually think I'm going to drive myself mad on this monotonous journey to find a self that I've never even known.

I ask myself the same questions over and over again. I stay up all damn night till the wee hours of the morning, interrogating and grinding my brain for answers, so much so, that I think it's become mush. Every minute I'm alone I'm left to face my vault of a mind; a vault in which I'm embarrassed to say I've yet to crack. Whether it's a two minute bathroom break or hours of solitude behind closed doors, I find myself frantically searching for reasons why I am the way I am. Reasons why I am so welcoming to people who don't care but so determined to push away the people that do. Reasons as to why I'm so comfortable with confining all my problems into a compact metaphorical box to be tucked away there's no room for it. I suppose it's not so much reason but rather explanation I seek.

Most importantly an explanation as to why I am so distant from my family. I suppose I found myself seeing it as it was their obligation to love me. An obligation out of blood that I inherited and blood that we shared. Without it, there was no tie and there was no love. But seeing as there is no way of severing such bond, they are my family and no distance will change that. A family that I know loves me and a family that I once had a place in- a place I pretended to belong in hopes of truly feeling I did, but I never quite ended up believing it. I ask myself all the time why that is; why that was. Why I've never felt like I've had a home and why I feel like I'm still searching for my place in the world. I don't, nor will I accept my mother to be an excuse I can fall back on, for it cannot be as simple as that. I know my father would disagree; I know he'd say that using my mother as excuse for my mistakes is the bane of my existence; he'd also include some jargon about how I still use the tools from the tool box she once gave me. I know he thinks very little of me, and I don't blame him, because he doesn't know me. He doesn't know the truth of everything I've gone through and everything I fought tooth and nail to keep away from him and anyone who rifled questions my way.

He only knows a frustratingly stubborn little girl; the epitome of a nightmare; the true reason for hair turning grey. The little girl who couldn't see two feet in front of her and open her arms to his unconditional love. He wouldn't know how she tears up thinking about him or how badly she wishes she could find the answers within herself to give him the peace of knowing that he didn't fail her. He wouldn't know that she included him in her prayers every night and thanked the Lord every morning for his saving grace. He wouldn't know any of these things and so much more, and if he were reading this right now, he probably wouldn't believe a word of it because he only knows the girl who was a liar, a con artist, and a chameleon to her surroundings.

An old psychologist/ therapist/ whichever the title, once told me the reason I feel so distant from my family is because the establishment and the structure was all new to me. He told me that because I spent a childhood being shunned, moved around constantly, and without any structure, that it was normal for me to feel the way I was feeling. Normal. 

It still makes me chuckle. Before you think I'm a sick bastard, laughing at the fact that I've got no relationship with a family that has done me no wrongs, bear with me. Normal isn't exactly my forte. Not only do I not believe in the term anyway (who is to say what is normal and what isn't), but in reference to normal in the eyes of society and the way things are supposed to be per-say, I'm far from it. So I chuckle at the words of someone who spent at least eight years of his life getting a degree to listen to my problems then tell me what's normal, what's not, and to finally trick me into thinking he helped me solve my issues. That's what psychologists do. They trick you into thinking that you need their help, they get your money, and all they really do is give you tissues for the tears and guide you to finding the answers within yourself by yourself, essentially making them a useless third party in the whole process if you ask me. 

Of course I found no answers then because I wasn't open to looking for them, but now that I am, it burdens me a great deal that I still can't find them. I've had to have spent hundreds of hours searching every fold of my brain to decipher my shameful actions and emotions, yet despite how many times I look, I continually come up empty handed. Not literally empty handed, as I've come up with a handful of hypothesis' and theories, but I don't accept them. They aren't right to me. Here are a few examples and my thought processes behind them:

1. The reason I am the way I am is because of my mother. Aside from the physical and verbal abuse, the constant yearn for her to love me, and the nomadic ways of life with no structure or settlement, this must surely be why I am *ahem* fucked up.

This seems to be the most sensible answer but I hate the very idea of giving my mother even the credit of this responsibility. Not only do my cheeks tingle with disdain at the thought of her, but the thought of her destruction having a big enough fallout to still have a say in my life makes me shake my head no. I cannot fall back on this excuse anymore. I refuse to. I owe it to my father and myself, to discover what's misfiring in my brain that makes the contradictions in myself and my feelings viable. At this rate and speed, I ought to just admit myself to an anomalisitc psychology research unit to let the experts figure it out themselves.

2. Maybe I am just a shitty person with no morals, no heart, and no sympathy for my actions and how they affect others.

Debunked: This cannot be because I have a very big heart and abundance of sympathy. I feel terrible for removing myself from a body of people who care about me, want the best for me, and loved me without fail. I search for answers more so for them than I even do for myself anymore.

3. Maybe I'm depressed.

Maybe. Not sure if I believe in that to be a valid diagnosis though. Kinda stuck between believing it's an actual medical condition and that everyone experiences the symptoms and feelings that would describe the sickness at some point in their lives (losing interest in things, sleeping too much, not sleeping enough, losing one's appetite, etc), but others cope differently (obviously, that's what makes us individuals).

4. I spend too much time thinking and not enough time doing

Although this is very true, it doesn't change the fact that any actions I could force myself to perform would not be authentic, but would rather be exactly that- forced. So this theory as to why I am the way I am, just arises another question in itself and that is: Why would I need to force myself to make an effort to patch relations with my own family members? My own father? Shouldn't that just be a given? If I'm so afraid of being alone, why am I so content with separating myself from those who care about me? You see that? Questions upon questions. I could keep going, but you get the point.

Within every theory, every thought, every question, arises new questions. More questions and contradicting emotions that leave me still with no answers and a continually expanding abyss of no answers.

So at the now 4:06 A.M, I confirm that the only progress I've made in this per usual quest for answers, is that I've finally accepted I'm simply just f**ked up. 

Ok. That's a lie. I've known this for a long time. I've accepted the fact of the matter, and denied it, then accepted it again, only to then later again deny it. The process is redundant and the literal definition of insanity. 

On the plus side I did just think of a new theory to add to my list: Maybe I am actually the product of a multiverse, created when a different version of myself made the decision to be a complete and utter dumb ass who stomps through life causing destruction on my selfish journey to make sense of things, and if that's the case, then that would mean there is another me in another multiverse who is the antithesis of that. Which in that case would mean she is not destroying things, but doing good things, making good decisions, and has a strong unshaken relationship with all of her family. Without carrying on this pity party any further, one can admit how pathetically unrealistic and a gigantic waste of a time that series of thoughts just was. But hey, that's why they're just thoughts right.

On a real legitimate positive note, I am thankful for my health and a functioning brain that allows me to pick it for that in which I seek everyday. May today be the day I find what I'm looking for. If not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then may the next day lead me to the promised land. 

An Addiction I Can't Afford

You see, our relationship is a broken record,
though no matter how many times I hear it play,
I can't seem to stop listening.

The rhythm is mesmerizing.
The motions habitual.
A melody so soothing,
A song we've grown comfortable.

It's an alluring electricity in our veins,
that makes it impossible to stay away.
For these consuming sensations,
supersede every imperial affliction.

This love,
is an addiction.

I am finally realizing the effects
of these memories we hold onto.
Stuck in a state of nostalgia,
the past times will haunt you.

In hindsight I now see,
I can no longer afford
to let this love reside inside me.

It's time I accepted
sometimes to love you have to let go.
For our love, is a love, we can no longer know.

-s.d

Home

An old poem, from an old notebook, written on an older date.

Home...
"Is where the heart is" they say
But who are "they" to state
Where it is that my heart remains?
I'm just taking things day by day
For my hearts gone astray.
I left it in New Jersey
Or was is Florida, Georgia or Maine?
I've lived in so many different places
That I lost it along the way.
The word doesn't even register
To a brain, this brain, my brain in disarray.

Home.
At the end of a long hard day
Awaits a house, a bed,
And roof over your head.
It's more than just a place to stay
It's a feeling, a warmth, a comforting though
In knowing you have a place to go
At the end of the day.

Home?
It's a word I've never known.
From tents to trailers
To rooms full of night terrors
No food for days as these hunger pains grow
I looked up at the world saying
Damn this place blows.

Home.
Four letters
One word, one Syllable.
But a meaning incomparable
Incomprehensible
To the girl that never knew a home
Not now, not before.

-s.d

Patience in Isolation

I want to believe that true love exists but it's hard to fathom the idea of something existing when your constantly proven and given substantial evidence that it doesn't. I'm actually beginning to feel stupid, getting my hopes up all over again for someone I hardly know. For thinking I should follow my heart despite all the excruciation it's led me to. I thought to myself, that this time was different than any other time I had begun talking to someone. Sure, I was hit with different emotions and a connection like I had never experienced, but this time was no different than the last because this time, I was bound to get hurt again.

So that's why I'm putting an end to whatever this thing with this boy is before it even has the chance to start. I am young and I am lost. Too lost to get involved with someone again. Too lost to let someone in again because the last time I let someone in completely, it nearly destroyed me. I'm content with keeping to myself and managing the pain on my own. I don't want to be alone or feel this intensifying lonesomeness, but on the contrary, it's a price I'm willing to pay in exchange for my tethered heart not to come undone at the seams.

Loneliness is a second nature to me. I can be comfortable in the lull I used to know so well. I can be self sufficient and hold myself together without help from another. I will not be dependent upon anyone but myself and I will continue on this path of existence until I can find it in my heart to love again. I will keep my head up, my heart inside my chest, use my logic to protect me, and my faith to guide me wherever my purpose lies. In the meantime, patience is the most suitable form of action to move forward with in this voluntary isolation I remain.

Empty

I'm alone but without actually being alone if that makes any sense. Not sure why I even formed that statement in a question-some manner because it does make sense. I can only speak for myself as I can vouch for none other, but I have concluded that surrounding yourself with a bunch of people doesn't fill the emptiness. In fact, if anything, it intensifies it.

Here I am, surrounded by a bounty of people, great people, so many people and yet I'm lonelier than ever. I'm not sure I can pinpoint a time I've ever not been lonely.

Have I always been lonely with spurts of a feeling that fills the void, or do I just feel spurts of lonesomeness because that's a part of human nature? I'd like to assume that everyone experiences this feeling at some point in their life but I also worry that maybe I am part of a select percentage consisting of all the broken and unfix-able people who feel lonely until the day they die.

I give endless chances to the wrong people and I push away the ones that are actually willing to stick around and help me sift through the ruins. I push people away that I can see myself opening my heart to because my heart is already an open sore, bleeding disappointment from the few people in my life that I can't seem to close the door on despite every bit of logic that tells me I know better.

It's as if I'm so used to pain that I've become content with it. That pain itself is what actually comforts me and happiness that scares me because it is so unknown. Now how could that be? You may be asking yourself how it's possible that one could be more welcoming to pain than joy, but we are a species of habit- if you were to become conditioned to pain and how to cope with it on a daily basis, you too would be scared to open up to something more. Opening up to the chance of happiness is standing on a tight rope in the Grand Canyon leaving it up to complete faith that the wind won't blow you over.

I actually believe I am afraid of being happy because anytime I feel even an inkling of happy, my world seems to come crashing down in ways I didn't see possible.

No matter how much I try to decipher my seemingly magnetic draw to pain, I can't figure out why I'd be more willing to open the door to a man with a dagger than a man with a bouquet of flowers. Regardless, I suppose I've gotten to the point in my life where I expect the worst and that's what I will get until I demand better.

That said, I'd like to say I know what my next steps to a better life full of love and void of loneliness are, but I don't. I'm frozen in time. I go with the motions day to day and leave my life in the hands of fate. I embrace the pain. I embrace the loneliness.

Upon the beaten path I am complacent in a state of non existent nostalgia.

A Post About An Old Post

entry from a newly found old notebook, written on an unknown date

"I sit in my bed, yet another night with my back toward my roommate and my face staring at a blank wall where all of his pictures used to sit. I took them all down when I got back from the airport and now I like the blankness better quite frankly.

Sitting here looking at this blank white wall, I can relate to it. It's empty, lonely almost. You see, me and this wall have a lot in common. I can vaguely hear my roommate talking to me, but it's muffled and I don't care to focus in- so I don't. Day by day, I sit staring at this wall. My roommate eventually stopped trying to reach me, my friends stopped texting me, and my teachers stopped emailing me. In fact I stopped going to class completely, for I was just too busy.

Staring at the wall.

I stopped eating, nearly completely. I was wasting away- literally. I lost twenty pounds and I looked skinnier than ever, considering my new diet consisted of alcohol and the occasional grilled cheese.

I'd go out and drink myself to oblivion, and quite honestly, I think a part of me hoped that I would be able to just drink myself to death. A painless death in which my last thoughts wouldn't be the ones that drove me mad. I'd part quietly from the world, unnoticed and the slate would be wiped clean. Just like my blank white wall by my bed side.

In fact, a part of me was envious of that wall. It could hold whatever it wanted upon it's surface and it could be taken down at any time. If a picture was there, but it no longer belonged, it could just simply be removed. All of me pleaded and wished that the pain and memories could just be erased like such.

I stopped listening to music, because all my favorite songs brought back the sharpest memories. I stopped eating because I had no appetite. I stopped talking to people because I'd find myself drowning out the noise and lose track of the conversation. I isolated myself from everyone and everything. I no longer cared. I no longer tried. I just existed.

I would literally sit in my dorm all day and go for long late night runs, when the motivation would strike me and no one would be wake to see me. I tried to run away from the pain but no matter how fast I ran, the pain just ran faster. No amount of alcohol could stop it either. Nothing could stop my mind except that damn white wall. I know I've stressed it a lot, and have been a bit redundant, but the truth of the matter is exactly that. My days had become redundant, not that they aren't anyway, but each day was literally the same. I looked terrible. Everyone around me could tell I was deteriorating except me.

Freshman class president, with all the friends on campus, the most outgoing, happy and bubbly person all my peers had known to be, had vanished. People stopped saying hi because they got tired of not hearing a response. I got so sick of the pitiful looks, therefore the reason I stopped leaving my dorm completely.

Out of all the things in my life that I'd been through, it'd surprise anyone to hear that this was what broke me. After all the trauma, the pain, and darkness that I had risen from, it was a boy- heartbreak- that made feel so very unfixable."

It's crazy how we stumble across things that we had forgotten about. I forgot I had written this, but this is an entry from one of my journals. It's hard to fathom that I once felt like this, lost myself like this. It's made me realize that I'm actually still looking for myself. 

How Can You Move Forward Before You've Healed?

You can't.

I can't.

I tried so hard to fake it. I thought if I tried hard enough and tried forcing myself to look at/ document things more positively, that I may actually start to believe it. It's said that one can be so dedicated to a lie and so consumed in that lie, that they themselves, can confuse it as truth. Well, unfortunately that's not the case when  you are using the method to mask and diminish pain in hopes of not having to deal with it. Pain demands to be felt said Van Houton. There is no way to skip a step in the process; any and all attempts to beat around the bush, just feed said bushes roots until you finally realize there is no way around it's infinitely expanding properties. My life is simply in shambles. I've been avoiding it and I've taken every step possible to deface it. There is no way around it. No way out of it's grasp until you solve the problem. There is no way to apply positive thinking if you are applying it to a role it cannot possibly fill; it would seem, I've been trying to force a positive mind upon one that's grieving; I haven't given it proper time to heal.

Write A Book and Get It Published

#36 On my bucket list. Write a book and get it published.

When I was fifteen I started writing a book, not in mind that one day I'd publish it, but in an attempt to cope with and figure out the things I had experienced in my life. Just a few weeks ago however, I found more writings on my laptop that I had completely forgotten about, probably because I was severely depressed a couple months ago not long after I had written them. These writings, are painful, but yet beautiful. They're about my relationship with a special someone before shit hit the fan, and also after shit hit the fan.

It's crazy how these words can bring me back to exactly how I felt when I wrote them. So that's when I decided that I was going to put them in my book. A book about my life. Whether it's a hit or not, I really don't care, but I know I want to publish it one day. It's getting pretty lengthly, and in all honesty it's helped me figure out a great deal of things. Being able to put my thoughts and feelings down, not only captures the moment to be remembered forever, but organizes them in a way that I can move on with my life satisfied.

I hope that one day I can use my story to help others. To inspire others that their life is what they make it and they are not defined by what's happened to them or what they've done. That no matter how dark things might get, there is always a light to be found and there is always a reason to move forward.

Full Circle

Everyone has experienced what it feels like to miss someone, to miss their presence and their character, but have you ever experienced missing someone so much that it hurts? I never knew it was possible. I had grown to keep everyone just out of arms reach of me, because I was so used to people leaving and so used to the pain of being alone. But then I met a person who changed everything. The way I looked at things, the way I looked at myself, and most importantly the way I looked at my relationships with other people.

He sure was something special let me tell you and it aches to have to write that in past tense, but that's exactly where he lies and where our memories sit. I drown out the days and I move forward in time, hoping the clock will heal the wound his absence has left, but time hasn't done much other than dry my eyes.

I miss him. Not us, not our relationship, but our friendship. Our companionship. Every stupid little joke, every phone call, end every confusing part of my life I needed a different perspective and advice on. Now knowing that we will never have that again, just makes the reality of things all the more blurry. I've over scheduled myself with work in hopes to fill the lonely void, but instead I'm only encountered by hundreds of strangers a day, and I can't decide what's lonelier. To be surrounded by strangers in hopes of erasing something that hurts, or to isolate yourself from others to face the pain in solitude. Yet here I am doing both, so I suppose that makes me extra lonely.

I go to work and surround myself by people I don't know, with stories I don't know, and we share light conversations full of nothing significant. When I ask them how they're doing, they all say great, or good, or fine. And when they ask in return how I'm doing, I say "I'm great thanks", meanwhile I am fully aware that isn't always true. Yet we give the same answers and get the same ones in return, not concerned what the real answer is, because no one really cares if you aren't doing well. If you are just trying to get through the day and you haven't been yourself for a while.

So as far as anyone is concerned, I'm doing great.

My smile says I'm happy, my friends think I'm funny, and I gloat about how well I'm doing for myself, but how am I really?

I am doing well for myself, so that's not a lie. But in the end, what's so grand about working back to back, day by day, just to come home and hide from the world and all the beautiful people out there that I'm too afraid to get close to? I'm not doing great, but I'm not doing bad either. I'm just existing, and I suppose that's even worse than the ladder now isn't it?

Anyway, I don't know who's reading this, I don't care if anyone is quite frankly. I just write these things down in hopes of organizing my thoughts and getting some sleep, because lying in bed at night with a racing mind doesn't help me accomplish either.

I miss him.

So much that it hurts. No matter where my mind travels, where it wanders, how many hours of overtime I work, how much I work out, sweat, and run from it, it all goes back to him. Everything comes full circle and I'm back to right where I started.