i can't stop
i can't step up
i can't breath or take a breathe

there are so many things
that section me out
i section me out

really?  is this what I really want to write about?  i  couldn't even play my guitar today or think of lyrics.  i can't even sleep.  i can't SLEEP!!!  i haven't received a full nights sleep in months, literally.  why am I stuck in this hole?  why can't i just be happy and move on?  it can't be the meds.  it can't be the illness.  many people have conquered this.  many people have gone through so much more.  i haven't changed.  i haven't changed.  i haven't changed.  i use to think that was okay, but i haven't since i was a kid.  i still throw paper balls, act like a fool, have crazy mood swings, push people away, move everywhere, etcetera, etcetera,...

i still love "the king and i."  i love musicals.  i adore musicals.  they make me happy.  but they only last so long.  i can only last so long.  

i started painting again.  wish i could do this all the time.  i wrote last night.  wish i could do that all the time.  at least nanowrimo is coming up.  two to three more weeks off from school, unpaid.  what am i going to do?  wrake up my credit cards?

i have no one.  i am off of freakin' facebook for at least two more weeks and no one is really reaching out.  no one really remembers me.  out of site, out of mind.  but not out of my mind.

i use to have no regrets.  now, they seem to be piling up because the person i am now is not a good person.

how do i change my persona without being fed the "just do it" line?

i'm just going to watch it flow, seeping down.  my cheeks are cold tonight.

i am cold tonight.

fuck you all.

I see my computer.
I see my bamboo carpet/mat.
I see my red towel.
I see the images flashing across the television.
I see my tall fan. 

I hear the dogs playing around outside of my door.
I hear my fingers typing on my computer.
I hear cars driving by outside.
I hear the engine of a small plane.
I hear my feet shifting on the bed.

I feel my wet hair grazing the back of my neck.
I feel my clothes on my skin.
I feel the sheet on my comforter.
I feel my friendship bracelet on my left wrist.
I feel my hands resting on the coolness of my computer. 

I am 28.

I cut myself today.

I am afraid of failing.

I am dying from the inside.

I feel blocked on all sides.

I don't want to kill myself.

Not sure how much longer I can fight.

This is my S.O.S.