I woke up hating myself this a.m.  I had a dream about Charlie, listening to that damn recording, and how I thought he was just sick that night, and I tried to take care of him. 

I noticed, recently, that he overturned a picture of him and Quinn together that was taken seven years ago, the first year we were all friends.  The two of them are holding up a pumpkin, in the pic, b/c it was Halloween.  I love that picture.  I should put it away before something happens to it.  It’s the only picture I have of the two of them together, and I’m sure there won’t be another picture taken of the two of them, anytime soon. 

I hate myself for missing Quinn.  I hate myself for letting him touch me, and for doing…  all the things I did.  I hate myself for being happy during those two months, because I was so high on being wanted, and needed, again.  I hate myself for not ending it, when I tried to, right before it all went wrong.  We hadn’t hooked up in two weeks.  And, then…  the day Charlie sets a trap, we fall back into each other’s arms.  So weak….  so foolish…  I hate myself for being so impatient.  For not being able to stand the lack of touch, and lust in my marriage…  I hate myself for being too nuts to think my way out of my disorder.  For letting my life become a Tennessee Williams play…  (or, maybe something even darker, like something by Edward Albee…)  I hate my stagnancy, and the fact that I don’t really know how to redeem myself, or forgive myself, and that I can’t even seem to save myself.  I hate the way I’ve been kidding myself lately (trying not to beat up on myself, when I know I deserve just about every hit I take from me, or anyone else). 

I guess, I’ve just given up, on everything, for the moment.  These feelings probably won’t last, but I can’t be sure.  I don’t feel sure of anything, right now.  God damn rapid cycling.  I feel sick, twitchy, and depressed, right now.  I’ve lost any control over my thoughts and feelings.  The PTSD has been really bad – painful and embarrassing thoughts and feelings hit me like bricks, without warning, and I can’t shake them.  Sometimes, I twitch when this happens, but I try not to, because it makes Charlie think I’m even more nuts (he’s never said so, but he seems to think so, from what I can tell – he clearly notices, but won’t say anything). 

God, he’s so beautiful.  To look at…  to know…  and, to love…  I’ve never known anyone else like him.  At least I can still make him smile, and laugh with me.  That’s something.

At least he still holds me at night.  I keep telling myself, "I know he still loves me." 

Still no word from Quinn.  Maybe, we’ll see each other in hell.

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