Shame, boatloads of shame
Day after day, more of the same
Blame, please lift it off
Please take it off, please make it stop

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It's been pointed out to me that I can talk and not feel, that words just roll off my tongue and it's as if nothing has ever happened.  I am numb and that is one thing I do know.  I feel the feelings deep down, like a body of water held back by a dam waiting for the dam to break.  What if the water never stops flowing, what if I really am truly crazy?  It's something I have suspected for quite some time and it's one of my greatest fears.  I know that if I question the fact that I am crazy then I am not crazy but that doesn't change the fear of becoming crazy. I don't talk about a lot of things because if I talk with feeling then it means they are real and that terrifies me.  I don't want things to be real but I want to feel real which is something that hasn't happened in quite some time.  Judy once asked me what it would be like to speak about the things that trouble and torment me.  She asked me what it would be like to know that I can bring them to her and she can help me carry those emotions.  I could never do that, because deep down I am ashamed of who I am and what I've done, what I've allowed to happen.  


I'm listening to Regina Spektor right now and it hurts.  It hurts because it reminds me of sitting down with Haley holding her hand or rubbing her back or with my arms wrapped around her.  The images will never go away.  The image of the extension cord, the chair the chilled to the bone feeling while going through his stuff.  I can't even really begin to explain what that period of my life was like.  It was short yet so much emotion and so many feeling.  I don't know whether it was because I felt like I was running from one person to the next bandaging and re-bandaging their wounds all the while ignoring the fact that someone I cared deeply for fucking hung himself.  


The house was right across the street.  It's the fucking worst possible scenario because there's no escaping it.  Every night I sat there in the chair smoking staring at the house.  It was empty for awhile and it was almost as if the house was taunting me, then a family moved in and it was almost as if the house was mocking me.  The lights on knowing full well that I wouldn't walk in to find Darius but rather some stranger. 

by the way my therapist in residential wants me to write