Vanilla flavoured misery.

Its 4 o'clock in the morning, and I havent begun well already. If you're clever, you can probably tell even now that I'm doing this on the back foot, defensive and tentative.I am in so much pain that even oblivion and a dissolution of my consciousness into nothingness would hurt.

Why do I have the need to share this with you? Why do I want to put out this little 'juicy nugget' for all to see. Actually, let me confess, I dont. I'm probably so completely crazed by all the endorphines racing through my brain right now, that I just want to write. All I want is to find some outlet, something to make the pain go away. I tried holding my head in my hands and crying like they do in the movies; the problem with that is - it feels like the movies, hollow and fake. I tried walking, looking at the sky and thinking about J.D. Salinger. That's a no-no if we're talking real pain, I mean who in his right mind even looks at the sky anymore. Then I tried alcohol...oh yeah..dont say it, dont think it. I mean hey, if you're going to get righteous on me here, take a hike dude. Alcohol is great, the only problem with it is that it amplifies the noise along with the signal. (Unacceptable SNR for you engineering types...). So then I try to talk to people, friends, family and any other person lame enough to lend me a ear. The problem here (by now..you're probably getting a real pschyo-analytical profile of me) is that they listen, and they are symphathetic and they are nice and they wish you well. But can they make you feel better? To cut to chase, no. And dont get me wrong here. they're great and all that jazz but you're not improving your lot by trying to look for closure by yakking.

What then shall I do, should I go to sleep each night in agony to wake the morning with a new ache. Should I try and be stoic, strong, and graceful? I just can't do it, it's not working out. Each day is exquisite in the pain it throws at you. They told me when I was smaller and probably more naive that pain was a way for the body to indicate that it was fighting disease and malaise. Well then, this is a battle I'm losing.

Maybe, just maybe (and I'm probably flattering myself here) you're wondering what the hell is wrong with me, I mean like really wrong, like what happened. I used to be reasonably well adjusted, content, letting each day of my life lead me through my existence. To digress for a brief minute; I read somewhere that the gulliotine was not as painless as they once thought. And yet men were said to be numb and paralysed when the blade began to fall, and dazed beyond any feeling when it finally did fall. Ok, that was really nasty. I lost something which so much a part of me that I lost all feeling briefly. But unlike the gulliotine which eventually does the job, I had no such luck. What is it like to live each day without your muse, your essence? What is it like to be in purgatory, bound to the pain with no hope of it ending? What is it like to know that no one but you can make the change, but you have no strengh or desire to do it?

That's about it from me, time to go back that little hole I tried to crawl out from.