And instead I ended up crying in my mom's bed and allowing myself to be roped into another therapy session.

Because apparently I'm not me, and I have no reality, and I need someone to tell me what my reality is.

I don't know how I feel about that. But hey, at least I'm not walking to the YMCA to catch a bus to work.

There's a fine line between doing this because I just want everyone to shut up and it's the only way they will, and doing it because I really do need the help and am just telling myself I'm being manipulative and agreeing just to get my way.

I'm not sure which is better: being crazy, or being a liar. I suppose we'll figure out which is which soon enough.


"Step out the front door like a ghost
Into the fog where no one notices
The contrast of white on white.

And in between the moon and you
The angels get a better view
Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right.

I walk in the air between the rain,
Through myself and back again.
Where? I don't know."