I used to think that all the shit I'm taking comes down to loneliness. I didn't want or much less need people around when I'm in an alternate state because I didn't want to share. I wanted my own universe but it wasn't safe. I am not at ease in my own skin. The lonelieness doesn't imply that I didn't have good friends everywhere I go. I do, I know there are people out there who would take a bullet in the chest for me, in a heartbeat. But no one seems to be able to touch my loneliness.
But lately there has been some in my wavelenght, before it was only Rachel[Hobbes] who is able to look through my window and tell me what is out of place with just one look. Today, I have people who is able to at least play the Hokey Pokey with my (dis)comfort zone.
Love is all around, and I know I've got to pick myself up. I know I cannot forsake this love. I know my friends don't deserve this. I know my family does not want this. I know my life does not merit this.
I'd thought the problem was me. I was it. That's what I believed. I believed I was the everything. The largeness of my disaster dragged others-frankly, everyone-down with me. But of late, these people, the pillowed landing they subconsciously have prepared for me has made me been able to smile without my mind going "Fucking smile bitch!"