My muscles jerk, my bones ache and creak, my eyelids droop, and my lips sting. I park the car after driving in the pouring rain. He exits, I stay, listening to the pitter patter of the falling rain on the roof of the Beetle dubbed 'Doyle.' I begin to think, but realizes that gets me into low spaces. I grab my brown zip up sweater from the back and run through the rain, my flats making a lovely sound on the wet sidewalk. I walk in, greet my cat, and begin one of the most difficult conversations I have had in a while. Three hours later, eyes wet, I walk into the bathroom and shut the door, taking a long look at myself in the mirror. My hair banana curled the perfect sort of way throughout the day. I draw in my breath and decide once more I have nice eyelids and nice hips. Hours pass, and I remain here, listening to Cartel and thinking about how I love Camden so. How college will be okay, how I will never let myself have to live in someone else's home again. I will learn to care for myself and be okay. Lately, I think more and more of medicine. Is it weak to take a pill which will make your mind feel a little more easy? I have always felt so against behavior altering medication. Now I am considering it, it makes me feel like I am failing. Failing to keep it all under control and to keep things looking pretty on the outside at least. A friend of mine has noticed, and I felt like I let some dirt get on my petals, I have become too lazy to knock it off, the wind isn't quite strong enough around here to do it for me. Therapy just seems to hurt me more. I am trying to keep a feelings record again, maybe that will help, maybe it won't. Who knows? It's worth a shot, I think. Today, I decided that it doesn't really matter what we think or feel, what we say or write, as long as we are working toward a better tomorrow. This is certain to change in time, for I am often times fickle and strange, but I hope it sticks around for a while at least. Quote of the Day: ~“My evening visitors, if they cannot see the clock, should find the time in my face.”~ --Ralph Waldo Emerson

I am currently unsure if it is better to hold things in or to let them out. Either way it seems I hurt. I let them out, and I hurt he I love, I keep them in and my insides slowly become eaten away, keeping me from eating properly. I ate my first full meal and then got so upset I threw it all back up. It wasn't the biggest failure of the night, but it was one, for certain. I have started feeling low again, and I let it pour in, I let it question and come out, I gave it a voice. I need to stop letting myself do that. The problem being; there are a lot of things I need to stop letting myself, and a lot of things I don't stop letting myself do. I haven't been writing poems the way people die in a massacre. It tears out my very soul and wrenches my heart. It's like giving away pieces of me, I'm trying to get rid of all the bad pieces. You can have one if you like. This is starting to ache my heart away. Quote of the Day: “The keeping of bees is like the direction of sunbeams.” --Henry David Thoreau I always sort of imagined that guy as an asshole.