this post has been rattling around in my skull for months now. i have hesitated to post because i do not want to drag you down into my deep, empty, lonely abyss of darkness. but i also want to retain the integrity of my blog: here, i do not pretend to mask the strange, particular creature into which i have developed.
so, reader, i will be honest with you.
i have never felt so unsure of life and purpose. perhaps my vacillating attitude towards my existence stems from the depressing fact that i am no longer whole; body, mind,
and i wish i could express myself to you, even if it's violent and disheartening and miserable. because-- i think-- once i can/will, things will change.
i wish i could access whatever is inside me that holds me back. i wish, in some cheesy way, that i could be like santana (and you could be brittany) and we could reach an understanding about our individual roles in a larger play.
on a lighter note, there is a pending blog post about my bicycle. stay tuned.
forever reaching-- with both hands,
a.
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