Love is a death sentence.

I’m sitting here and wondering what on earth I’m doing with myself. I feel like one minute things might be okay, then the next something inside my head snaps and all of my love and happiness is thrown into a barrier at 100mph. I feel manic. I feel like everything that I want to say comes out like something a sniveling five year old would say. Nothing feels right, but it feels like I deserve it.

The sound of the rain pounding against my bedroom window is caressing my soul, it’s making me a mess. Is this what they call seasonal depression? The cold makes me bitter, the rain is hit and miss… Sometimes I want to be in it, jump in, be one with the water that’s falling from the sky.. Other times I want to sit and scowl at it, wish it away, wish for the warm sun against my skin again.

I have been dealing with Pancreatitis for the past week, and oh god what a terrible feeling it is. I didn’t leave the house once from Wednesday-Saturday, and then I came back home Sunday and fell onto the bed like I’d over-exerted myself. I feel like I’m physically broken, spiritually broken, like I have no grasp of what is to come. I make promises to people, and then I wonder if I make those promises as some sort of sick and twisted subconscious way of inevitably disappointing myself.

I’m afraid, right now, if I let myself cry it will never stop. I’m afraid that I may drown in my tears and forget how to swim. I’m afraid that I’m alone, and nothing can make me feel otherwise. No one can save me, now. I’m a lost cause.

Love makes me happy one moment, then sick the next. I slip and I forget the right things to say, the right ways to act and then I feel like I’ve failed so hard. I feel like I’ve fallen onto my face and I’ve managed to capture all of the downs that go alongside those ups that I last posted about.

Love is poisonous. Love is a death-sentence. Love is killing me.

I feel like nothing is real, yet everything is too real. Today, I feel like I’m closer to dying than I’ve ever felt before. Everything just feels so painful. Help me, I’m drowning.

I want to be buried in the sand, I want the salt from the ocean to tickle my nostrils, I want to  feel the waves crash against my feet. That is love. Whatever this is, I don’t know. It hurts too much, but maybe that’s proof enough that it is love. I long for it like I long for the ocean. I long to be held, consoled, reminded that someone out there loves me deeply and eternally. I just wish that out there wasn’t over two thousand miles away.

Up up up and then so far down down down

I over think things, I question every action I take far too much, and then there are moments where I don’t question it at all and I feel like I should. I feel like right now, that may be one of those times where I should be questioning my shit a little bit more than I am. But, if everything feels so right, how could I dare let logic interfere? How should I tell myself that all of this is lies and slander; how can I explain to myself that I’m just going to end up in the same boat that I was before as far as pain and suffering goes?

I guess these are the risks that hopeless romantics take. These are the things that happen to us on a regular basis, this is the reason why most of our lives we’re just picking up the pieces of some part of us that use to be whole. We let people in, we let down our walls, we hope that maybe they’ll understand us, and then we get burned harder than we were ever burnt before. Or, even worse, we get silence.

I met a boy on the internet a couple of weeks ago. I think that I like him more than I should. He sends me songs that I’ve never heard before, he’s read the same books as me, he says all of the right things. He can go from being the sweetest thing ever, to being the cruelest thing ever, but the cruelty is more just an odd term of endearment. No worries, it’s not actual cruelty. There’s this odd amount of balance about him that strikes a small flame in my heart, that makes me feel like there are butterflies floating about, that makes me wonder if I can have feelings. There’s something about him that makes me feel reckless, that makes me feel like I should make rash decisions, that makes me feel like I could be in love. Yes. Love. So fast, so sudden, there it is. Or, maybe I’m lying to myself. Maybe I’m poisoning myself, slowly but surely. The problem is, if that’s the case, so is he. He’s poisoning himself with me. Maybe we’re about to kill each other, maybe it’ll be beautiful.

I feel like I’m at a point in my life where I’m trying to defy something that’s as natural as gravity. I feel like I’m telling my brain to get fucked and jumping on the rollercoaster that is my heart, once again. I feel like I’m holding on and I don’t see and end in sight, and that nothing else in the world matters. I feel like everything is so right and so wrong all wrapped up into one big, giant burrito.


Then, on the other hand, I feel broken. I feel lost. I feel like I’m hurting. I feel like I’ve lost something important in my life. I feel like I’m lacking. I feel like I’m trying to fill up the empty spaces as quickly as I can, in an attempt to not hurt so much anymore. I feel like I don’t have the right words to say, that the only people who I want to be around right now are too far away. I feel like I want to set money aside in an attempt to at least try to make it to Steph’s dad’s memorial. I feel like a 4hr drive is a lot more plausible than a 6hr drive, but I feel like I should be able to do the 6hr drive too. It’s bad enough that I missed what was held for Brad. I shouldn’t miss this at all. I should be there, I should see my friend, I should say my goodbyes.

There won’t be any more epic stories, no more talking about music for hours on end. There won’t be any more words of “you don’t know how to drink, little girl” or any more shots poured for me. There won’t be any more family gatherings, birthday celebrations, or moments of heroics with him there. All I can  think about is how much it hurts to me, and how much more it must hurt for my best friend to lose his dad. I can’t imagine losing my own dad. I’d be so broken right now.

If I lost my dad today, I don’t know that I’d be able to function tomorrow. I feel like, at times, I’ve lost my dad years ago and he’s yet to come back. There are small little glimpses of him here and there, but I think that now that I’m an adult he just doesn’t know how to talk to me. He doesn’t know how to be a dad anymore. He calls my bluffs all the time, he asks me if the things that I’m doing are for good purpose or for some broken brain issues that I’m having when it comes to over-analyzing my situation. He reminds me that I’m a failure as far as being a parent goes. He makes a big scene whenever he can. He’s stressed out, he’s lost inside of his computer, I feel like I don’t even know him half the time. I miss the mornings I’d get up in the morning and get a ride from him to school. I miss stopping for coffee along the way, I miss our talks, I miss just having him near me. I use to think that when my dad was with me, that I was safe. Now, when my dad is near me, I just get mad because he’s so far fucking gone into his laptop.

Sometimes, I wonder if my dad even gives a shit or if he just pretends that he does because it’s his duty as a dad. It’s one of those “do you love me because you love me, or do you love me because society tells you that you have to love me” things. I just feel like 99% of the time, my parents loathe me. They hate the choices that I’ve made, the situation that I’ve managed to get myself into, they don’t like any aspect of my life. I feel like every time I’m around them, I get some look of disapproval. I get lectured about something, most things, and I feel like nothing I do is right. I keep trying and trying to please them, but there’s no pleasing people who choose to be so miserable.

And to think, my dad use to be the most important person in my life. My dad was the one that I ran to when I began to realize that I had a drug issue. My dad was the one that I felt I could talk to without too much fear of judgement. My dad use to be the light of my life, where has he gone? Why can’t I have those things anymore?

I’m in love with the idea of being in love.

I find myself searching desperately for love, to the point of hanging myself on a clothesline to dry. I keep trying to find passion, but I feel like it’s been missing for an eternity. I feel like there’s a gaping hole in my heart that needs to be filled, to the point where I’m trying to put make-believe feelings inside of it. What do I do? How do I cure this love-sickness? It’s like a fever, and no amount of anything seems to be fixing it. I keep wanting to like, I keep wanting to love, I keep falling on my face. It’s killing me, over and over again, and the only solution I can think of is to recluse; to bite my tongue, curl up into a ball, hide away and never come out again.

I wear my heart on my sleeve and I feel like it’ll be the death of me. I keep looking for some kind of a fire to ignite inside of me when I meet someone new, and I can’t find it. I look for someone who will listen to music with me, quote songs at me, quote my favorite books; but none of these things seem to exist.. and if I do find them, they’re across the country. I feel like it’s all too dangerous, this love thing, and it scares me. Terrifies me.

I want a fairytale, I want true love to exist, but I haven’t felt like it has in years. I’ve found myself just lusting, more than anything, sometimes even obsessing. I want to find that person whose hand meets mine and there’s a jolt that courses through my blood and reminds me how right everything is. Right now. I feel like I have a security blanket and that’s all. I have consistency, and I’m afraid that it’s wrong for me to just hang around for that.

I thought that Andy might be true love until I sabotaged everything with a search for security. Security that turned out to be the opposite of such, and blew up in my face. I think I was blinded by his beauty, more than anything. I was blinded by how charming he could be, so much that I ignored the vanity that was really him. He was judgey, he was pushy, he was fickle. If I tell myself these things, it’ll all sting less to reflect on it all. I’m over it, really, I am. Or so I like to  think I am.

My heart feels empty. So empty. I feel like I don’t know myself. I feel like I’ve failed myself, like I’ve let myself down. I feel like none of the things that I do are right. I feel alone, even when I’m not. I just want to be understood. I want someone that can say “hey, Arica, I can relate to all of this because of x, y, and z, I get you, I love you.” I can’t remember the last time I was told that I was loved by someone who wasn’t a family member or my best friend… or a stalker.

Right now? I’ve been replacing love with music. I find myself longing for my piano, I find myself wanting to get my guitar back and pick it up and figure it all out again. I find myself wanting to write these feelings into songs, to finish songs that I started and never finished. I find myself listening to things that speak to me, things that take me on journeys through my own soul and I find myself becoming even further lost than I was before. I find myself saddened by songs, uplifted by others. I find myself grabbing at this sound that’s emanating from shit speakers and interpreting it into a soundtrack that is my life.

I read biographies about various women who’ve gone through issues of addiction, love-sickness, etc, and try to find answers.. But, there are no answers. Everyone has a different story. None of them really have any of it figured out. They’re not as strong of role-models as I use to think that they were, they’re just as weak as I am. Just as lost as I am.

I write and write in my other journal, my private journal, I talk about things that I like and hate that are happening in my life, things that I want to keep under wraps, and it wasn’t until today that I really thought about how I’ve been slacking on here. It wasn’t until today that I thought maybe I should broadcast it a little better, maybe there’s someone out there that can shoot me some kind of advice.

I keep thinking about how my friend Tony likes to remind me that I am what I love. The problem, right now, is that I don’t know what I love because I only tend to love things that love me. That’s sounds silly, I know, but I can’t feel passion unless it’s thrown into my face. I can’t return passion unless someone is pounding it into me with a sledge-hammer.

On that note. it’s 9:58pm and I have to be up for work in five hours. I should sleep, if I can get my brain to shut up long enough to get to sleep. Maybe I should pour myself a drink and nurse it until I’m tired.

I need to see the ocean, again. It solves all the problems. I need to stop staring at the rain beating down on my window and get out and smell the salty air and feel the sand between my toes, even if it’s pouring down rain and absolute shit weather. The ocean gets me, the waves understand me, the air speaks to me, the smell calms me.