unpicked

i feel like i am un.rav.el.l.ing.

something is un.pic.kin.g me at the seams.

and the stuffing is falling out in clumps and it's grey and clotted and it cloys because its rotting.

i feel like shit. and like a shitty person. and that every day, a hundred times a day i am choking on my own garbage and making others eat it too.

please everyone don't tell me how fantastic i am. this is not a plea for positive reinforcement.

it's just fucking time. for a long hard look in the mirror. not for the blurry self-reflection and pseudo self-analysis that ricebag bounces off the verberant walls of this blog.

but for some real adding and subtracting and ... and honesty.

i just want to stop waking up feeling sadder and badder every day than i did on the day before.

so rather than the seams falling apart themselves, i am going to take out the thin and bleeding stitches myself. i feel a little ok about this in knowing that the thought of that doesn't make me feel sick. just numb. i just want to put my guts up on the table and to work out how drain away the pus and stitch myself up back together without too much hoop-la. and without any anaesthesia.

and p.s. please let me do this on my own.