The insanity that lies deep inside my soul has definitely slithered out tonight. I wish I could send it back into its cage. I stare at it, hissing at me, flicking its forked tongue. It is mocking me. I want it to go away but it just slithers closer.
I believe I've actually reached an insanity low point. I mean, not a depression low point, but an insanity low point, as in, I can't believe I am doing the things that I'm doing. It's not as if they're illegal, but what the hell is driving me to this.
Obsession? Fear that I believe the wrong people? Desire to find out I've been believing lies, or desire to find out that what I fear are lies are actually truths? And will any of this make my life any easier, will it make me sleep any easier? No. No, it won't.
I sit and contemplate my romantic history and just don't know. It's all so whacked, I don't know who to believe. Barney can stand in front of me and swear up and down that he's a purple dinosaur but even with 10 certified cartoon paleontologists, I'm not sure I'd believe them.
Right now, I believe nothing. I believe only what I can see with my own eyes and feel with my own hands. Dirt is real. When you dig your hand down deep in to it, you feel the loamy grit against your skin. You feel it until you wash it off. You feel it even after you have washed it off. Becuase it is that real.
I don't want to be who I am right now, this person who is awake at 12:02 and wondering what in this world is true and what is a lie. I want to have faith in something, anything. And all I have faith in right now is that when you dig a hole with your hands, you get dirt all over you. And that dirt is hard to wash off.
Right now, I feel very dirty and not in the fun/kinky kind of way.
