Yesterday.
All my troubles seemed so far away
now it looks as though they're here to stay.
Oh I believe in yesterday.
~Paul McCartney

I am sitting alone in my house. It's dark. There is a lightning storm going on outside and I am taking immense pleasure in it. It's soothing to know that something so dangerous is lurking right beside me. I stood beneath a tree. I waited.

Nothing happened.

No one is here right now. I am grateful. My family doesn't deserve this.

I don't deserve them.

I am in so much pain right now that it hurts to even write this. God, that lightning feels so good...the possibility. I am too much a coward to inflict death upon myself...so I don't worry aboout suicide.

I think of it constantly. I already know how I would go. I won't share that with anyone, ever, because, if you speak the plan out loud, it becomes a reality. It becomes a goal, rather than an idea. I can't stand being in my own skin anymore.

Thunder as a main course with a side order of lightning is so delicious. I took some percocet and some ambien for dessert. The pain in my head is outrageous and the pain in my mind even moreso. I am listening to the Beatles and falling in love with my words. I am reading them back as I am typing them, as if I am reading someone elses blog. Whoever she is, she writes so beautifully. She's brilliant, and yet pathetic all at the same time. I guess that she is probably an exquisite human being who is trapped in a situation she can't get out of. I think she is so much more than just words on a page, but at the same time, I want to tell her...suck it up whiny bitch. You don't know how good you have it. I consider myself fortunate not to be that poor fuck on the page.

Then I remember. She's me.