years ago i used to cut myself when sad - a child thing really - long thin pin lines down my arms, breasts, stomach. i would cut and cut, my safety pins trail, until the pinch and flow felt like something, anything. numbness elevated to a point of danger and sickness. it did.

that was then, however.

it is strange, for once you realize that you are sad you can never really see anything else clearly...there is always some sort of haze or veil, a mist, the proverbial little rain cloud trailing after you, no matter how fast you drive or how far away you go.

i have yet to make friends with the sad, for i see that giving in to some sort of arch enemy type, and i would rather not.

i have been handling it in different ways... avoidance, sometimes blatant ignorance, distraction - all nifty, you see - to a point.

the more you ignore a problem or conflict, the more effect it has on you, the more pull.

i am so tired, and stare at the walls from various comfortable and blanket strewn couches and beds. i stare and stare but cannot quite see the details of what i need to see, the answers, the roots. i find myself waiting and waiting ...and waiting, unable to heal, unable to feel anything but loathing and disappointment in myself.

the numb ebbs, there is reason and direct rhyme, there is comfort and dreams. i have so much love, you see, desperate and needful love, the need to be cherished, the need for acceptance.

i think i may be screwed for life at this point - i'll always be twelve or five, the hated one, the joke, the little girl pushing her shoulder and knee into the very back and furthest corner of the closet...if only the wall would give and absorb me into the lathes, if only the animals would talk to me like i know they can, please talk to me, please, you are the only friend, the only thing i have, a little girl staring into their glassy shepherd eyes, begging them to understand, to hear, to know, to love.

sometimes i do not fuck up.

this is rare.