The thing is, is…

Fits of rage only last so long.

Relationships only last so long.

Life only lasts so long.

What my disease boils down to is an  acute inability to keep shit in perspective. I want a security blanket. I want some sort of rosary to count my troubles and successes and prayers and furies on. I want a crutch, a twitch, tourettes, ocd, a habit, an addiction, a constant.

I don’t want to feel week, lonely, broken, wrong. I don’t want to be ignored, snapped at, bracketed off, forgotten.

I want to talk about the weather, and the world, and art and beauty. I’ve spent so long learning to ’speak from the I’ that I’ve fallen out of context.

It’s boring, really. That’s the sad part.

Just keep swimming.