I cannot write. I just can’t. It’s all awful. It’s terrible in its slow, dreadful, inevitably. Like a crone dying in her sleep. The breath of this thing that i was is cycling, circling, slowing, down and down and down. I feel sick to my stomach all the time. My heart aches and it hurts to breathe. Sadness is a yawning chasm, hungry for my tears. My guts are packed up inside my throat, squeezing and squeezing.

I want so badly to get away from here, but i have nothing, and there is nowhere for me to go. All the things that i have gotten so close to having, now seem cheap and pointless. My thoughts are acrid puffs of old dust. Motes on an empty plane, floating towards nothingness. I can’t think of a single thing that matters enough for me to pull myself out of this.

I’d say he’s taken everything i have, but i just gave it to him. He never asked. I know now it’s because he never wanted any of it. I know now that i am alone. I’m too crazy for anyone to be in love with. I’m too old, and my body is too broken for anyone to want. My quirks are too odd to live with, my flaws too great to tolerate. My heart is too cold to hold, my temper too hot to temper, my personality too immature for a partner, my presence too aloof for connection, my despair too bleak for light, my tears too bloody to staunch.

Tomorrow is devoid of hope.
I wish i could vomit up all of this and be done with it, but it’s stuck inside me and won’t let go.
I did all this work to see how alone and unwanted i am. How pathetic I’ve been giving all of me to someone who didn’t want any of me. How foolish, how childish, romance’s disciple, a devotee of fairy tales.

No happily ever after.
I’m just a disaster.
I thought embracing my histrionic nature might help, but it’s done nothing except embarrass me.
This has pounded and battered me, rendering me barely capable of getting out of bed.
I have never not been alone.
Does this sound like i’m on a self-pity trip?
Perhaps.
And also fuck off.