Here, here for peace. My mind is racing, racing, racing. I couldn’t slow it down if I tried. I’m having to stop periodically and concentrate on what I’m doing and why. My mind won’t stop with the noise. It’s not usually this bad. I hate this.
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Have had those thoughts, the persistent ones for two days now. Have another piece of the puzzle solved. There’s 3 parts left.
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I’m cleaning out drawers and getting rid of clothes that no longer fit. Fat bitch.
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Oh crap, every word I say. I want to say to you.
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My armpit hurts, is that normal? Been a couple of months now. Do you think that’s a bad thing? Is it my imagination?
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I can’t have what I want. No body will give it to me. I can’t take it because it’s not mine but I know what I want.
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I’d like to get in the car and drive. No destination, just drive. I take that back, I know exactly where I would go. I can’t do that. I’d ruin everything. I’d just have to go the place of early childhood where it was safe and good.
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I saw the Super 8 Movie. He was there. I got to see him in the stinking flesh. I saw his niece chasing him and him running away from her because he didn’t want anyone ‘figuring’ it out. I wasn’t the only one. Bastard.
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I’m decomposing on the inside. I feel guts turning to slime, jiggling in some places and sliding in others. Dead meat on the surface.
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Please don’t ring the doorbell! I can’t go to the door like this. I hate it when I have to hide in my own house. This must stop. Too scary, too unpredictable.
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Buttholes, I wish I could tell ya what a-holes you are. Isn’t there a law against run on sentences. Viva la enter! Make a new paragraph for gosh sake, I can’t understand it if it’s not chopped up. Too few paragraphs make it all too much for me.
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Truly. I’m decompensating, where’s the phone?