Broken Glass and Scissors

Sometimes there is a horror in being right. A monster that's waiting to rip you apart for your minor clairvoyance. A punisher. You should have known better, You shouldn't have kept asking questions you knew the answer to. You shouldn't have done the things you knew would lead down this path, you should have found another way to move, another way to think. another way to be- rather than giving into the compulsions that you knew would lead to ruin.

I broke a glass while doing the dishes. One of my favorites.

It broke so cleanly. I kept the smaller piece that broke off for today. And then I used my favorite weapon because I knew the answers and shouldn't have asked the questions. I knew I wouldn't be ok with this reality and I was punished. And I bled. And I took a bunch of Nyquil and the weird pain medication they gave me for anxiety. Now I'm just a little numb and feel silly. I have a bunch of cuts that are going to feel annoying against fabric for a while, and I'm just so overwhelmed. There's too many things. I'm glad that my new medication is making me more active. I think the cuts were deeper this time. I didn't want to say because I didn't want to be annoying, but I called Bren when I realized that I've accomplished nothing and dying right now would kind of suck. It'd have no legacy. Just a messy apartment and a thousand complicated relationships. Not romantic ones...all of them. Every meeting is a crumbling mess. It falls, seeping slowly, like the dots of blood, it's not natural. Nothing is natural but pushing people away.

I'm good at excel, I'm okay at art, and I am fantastic at being too much for others.

I wanted pie today.

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