Charlie is playing guitar.  I annoy myself – I am annoyed with myself for having failed to off myself when I briefly had the nerve.  My friends were here, and then, one of you DT cats distracted me with a series of emails (thank you, again, Alex), that were pretty dull and absent any wit on my end of things (all apologies, Alex).  Ultimately, I got on the phone with Ace, and that communication went better than such things have lately (for the most part). 

Jordan hooked up with one of my closest female friends – it isn’t going anywhere good.  He will like her – she’s wonderful, nothing not to like there.  But, she is aloof to romance, for the most part – more concerned with working on her own state of mind, education, and art than romance or sex – really doesn’t seem to need it with the same nagging desire that the rest of us do.  I fear it will not go well.  I love them both – I hope I am wrong. 

Jordan said something really shitty to me tonight.  I cried.  And, someone finally started to seem impatient with my whiny ass blogs.  I guess, I make no apologies for whining on my Depression Tribe blog about being suicidal…  it seems like the right time and place, and I would hope that anyone who would feel the need to disapprove of me in some way could find it within themselves to just click along to the next page.  But, if I have indeed become boring and/or redundant in my whining about wanting to die, I extend all apologies.  As a writer, I strive to avoid dullness, or obnoxious repetition.  It is simply the recurring state of things – a thought that continues to bounce around in my head. 

A thought moves through my mind like it’s bouncing it’s way through a pinball machine – it touches off other thoughts, it deflects, and heads in a completely different direction.  My mind, races, and moves from thought to thought, as I try to thread logic through a single idea, but the idea passes through three memories, and a tangle of emotions – at the end, I don’t know where my thoughts end, and where the madness seeping in begins.  I know it’s the bipolar disorder making me fixate on death.  I know there are people who need me to keep existing.  Is that enough to live for?  Being needed?

Maybe…

Quinn used to say it wasn’t, but he was always a selfish piece of shit, so whatever…

I don’t want to hurt anyone else.  That’s the flaw in it all.  If I could blink away my whole existence – all recollection of me evaporated…  that might be more like it.

I know I can’t keep feeling this way.  It can’t keep up like this.  It will stop.

It has to.  It has to get easier than this.

It’s just a bad moment.

Charlie should not play guitar at 2:19 am – he doesn’t really know how to be sufficiently quiet for this hour (not with the guitar in his hands).  There are still moments when I look at him, and think, "God, you really are beautiful."  But, I don’t know if he will ever see me that way, again.  He is still here…

I need to mail Ace a ukelele.  I have been meaning to do that – I should put it on my short list of things I would absolutely want to get done before I met with an accident, or something.  I would like the list to be much longer, but then I would have to be sure about being much longer for this world. 

Charlie plays really well. 

I understand nothing, and I am messed up as hell on the meds I took to sleep and knock out my anxiety (a prescribed med, no worries – but, as i am awake, it has me pretty…  altered).

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