it goes like this this is how it goes

...so now I begin reminding myself that there is something blacker than what is.  What was.  These spaces between what I wish for and what I will actually get.  The vague despair; wrenching at the idea of wanting -- anything.  Deserving -- anything.

I feel that the future is hopeless and that things cannot possibly improve.

Let it all go.

I tell myself that it's all right.

But I have no friends. (I have very seldom have friends; they never stay for very long.)  Maybe I had friends until recently.  Sooner or later I become something they don't want.  Inconvenient corners, creases, peaks and valleys.  Inconsistencies.  Inconveniences.  Neglect (on my part; theirs).  I tell myself to keep my distance.  Not to get involved with more people.

But, then, what does it matter if I add to the body count of people encountered?  I don't know that I'm hurtful.  I only know that I'm hurtful.

I tell myself not to need approval.  To need approval, to be liked, to be loved, even, these things are childish.  They are human.  I am human.  I am human and that's okay I am human and that's okay....  Only there's nobody to tell me that.  Only the me in my head.  Sometimes I get an: "Oh, well.  Never mind, then.  Escapism.  That's what everyone else does.  Do it too."

I do of course I do how can I not be an escapist.  These things lose their significance, though.  They pass.  They pall.  They trickle away.

The head stuff is more like a snake that will someday eat me.  Is sapping me.  I wonder if it will win.