All we ever do is talk from our own experiences. Every friggin line, every thought, every image. Its all just a spiraling mixed up galaxy of past and future past.... all of it endless stories we play over and over again, eating it like machines swallowing melting plastic.

Right, right?

I don't think I have been in my right mind for such a long time now. I don't know that I've ever been in my right mind. Of course, its all subjective anyway....right.!?...

 Pfft. How many people have driven themselves to madness in an attempt to avoid madness?

Probably....there's no escaping it.

Its just a matter of deciding what kind of crazy you want to be...

I just wish it were possible for everyone to accept all the different kinds of crazy without judgment. Myself included.

Hoooooo.......here goes...........

I wish it were easier for me to get over everything that happened 4 years ago. My doctor looked at me like I was crazy when I brought it all up so dismissively. She was shocked I had never been on medication for any of it.

"Yeah, I was raped by an old friend, and the next day, the man I was seeing raped me again. Oh, and before that, this other guy my mom introduced me to basically molested me and then manipulated me into having sex with him. Yeah, this all happened in about 5 months span of time."

Couldn't see it for what it was at the time, because no one told me and I don't listen to my own opinion. I suppose I dismissed it all so easily because everyone else did. That year was never about what happened to me. It was only about how I treated them after the fact. Fucked. Up. Completely mentally broken and unable to talk about it, so in shock, so outside of myself I had no control. And forced to talk about these things that I hadn't been able to process because no one knew how or thought to try to help me.

But I'm still responsible for my actions and how dare I hurt anyone after being torn apart mentally on three different occasions! Driving down the freeway, feeling the car start to move towards the ocean, no tears, no sense of needing to keep living, but I held myself back because others would be upset. Because that's what I do when I need help, I ignore it and look towards others, worry about them, feel guilty about not meeting all of their needs. How easy it is to ignore when everyone else wants it to be about themselves, anyway...

How close was I to becoming someone so different? Promiscuous and detached from my core so completely there would be no chance of coming back?  Unable to stop myself from doing things that I regret immensely. And who gave a fuck at that time? I was so alone. So, so alone with it. Perhaps by my own doing, but perhaps not. Not completely.

The only person who understood was the man I married, because he was fucked up too. We could be crazy together, and we were, and it was painful and horrible looking from the outside at first. But somehow, by some miracle, God came to rescue us, in such a dire moment. Together we have gained some semblance of peace, of healing and stability. And still these feelings surge up in me, thinking about that year, and how everything in my life changed. How there is a hole in my heart from loss and some insane kind of guilt, filling up with scar tissue, on top of a constant, needling anxiety that tries to pull me away from reality at all times. But whatever. I'm supposed to be fine now. I'm supposed to be normal. How can I be when I'm just allowing myself to feel things now?

This whole year has been like a slow trickle, is there any chance I can release the floodgates and get this over with a little faster?

When will this crazy ride end? Is there any going back from here?

I get so tired of feeling this pain. Tired of the pain, sure, but tired moreso that I need to keep talking about it. Because that means burdening others. How dare I ever do that? And does that extra guilt somehow negate the original pain? or does it just add to it, actually making talking about the pain more painful than holding it in?

Its just a matter of deciding what kind of crazy you want to be...

white bean white people (j'because)

I'm fairly certain I've come to a sort of final, blatant and horrible realization about myself (since this is always all about me, of course). I am an insane, over-sensitive narcissist under the guise of an innocent cute kind-hearted people person. And I've always been that way. Even talking about it now makes my crazy-dragon lift its head up and sniff the air, searching for some new trivial little self-inflicted conundrum to feast on with frenzied, slobbery zeal.