Let flown to the winds of anonymity

Things are stupid.
I am stupid.
There is a level of stupidness in all of us.
I have about three times my intended portion.

She is sweet. She is confused, she is lost, but she is sweet.

Every time I go through my family shit, I take it out on someone. I can't take it out on family, she doesn't talk to me anymore, so I just kill all ties. I try to kill it with everyone. I try to destroy all my relationships last night. My three friends didn't get it, and therefore didn't take me seriously. Instead, one asked me how I was, and the other two just told me to quit being an asshole. I can take that advice. That's fine.

But I don't stop with them. I smell blood. I don't really realize what I'm doing. I'm beast-mode. Going for a kill. Not THE kill, but any kill. Anything to put it into perspective.

I always do that. I need to quit. Now. I may have honestly hurt someone. I may have confused the freaking hell out of them. I may have just provided laughter. I doubt that, though. I feel I hurt them to some degree. I may never know it. I hope I do learn what it did. I love this person more than anything ever. I love her so much. I owe her so much. And for me to say the things I did, is horrible of me. For me to put her into a position of extremes, only two weeks after she's held up at gunpoint by some crazy bitch on a mission to get caught, is absolutely horrible. I am so sorry. I don't know if 'sorry' begins to describe my concern, or remorse for what I've done. I know what it is. I know what it means. I know what the consequences could be if she decides to follow through with them.

I have gotten better at managing it. But not really. I just go from punching things to sniping at people. I move from one poison to another. Before I'd hurt myself, mostly just physically. Now, I hurt others, mostly emotionally. I am a horrible person.

And I've the gumption to say that I'm an entertainer. That I'm someone who wants to make people dance. Someone who wants to make them smile, laugh, feel good about life. Probably because I want to hide, cry, and feel like life has no place for me. I want to keep them from feeling what I feel. The irony of a comedian is that we say 'fuck you' when we deeply care about our audience. We want to see them happy. It's not like we do it just for the ego massage-we do it for the audience. Ever wonder what makes a great comedian great? Honesty. Vulnerability. The ability to lay themselves - their core essence - in your hands, to some degree, and convince you that they, themselves, are the irony. That they, themselves, are the tragedy. They ARE the prat fall. They ARE the juxtaposition of misunderstandings and literal interpretations of abstract metaphors. That is their being. They are that disconnected.
"And you know the shit's good when you look at your hand, which is on fire, and think, 'What a lovely shade of blue...'"

I am disconnected. I have all the dysfunction of a great comedian. But I have no timing. I can tell great timing from a mile away, but I have none myself. And it doesn't matter. I don't want to make anyone laugh. I don't want to make anyone dance. I just want to finish my job, and go to her arms. I may have closed them forever. I pray not.
If I can't have her arms, I want to drift away into obscurity. I don't want to see my parents again. I don't want to see my sisters. Grandparents. Aunts. Uncles. Anyone. I just want to hide forever. I always wanted to. I just never did. I forced myself to interact, thinking it would get better. And it honestly does for a time. Then they start going through their own bullshit, and I'm not strong enough to differentiate anymore. I'm worn down. I'm worn out. I'm going to snap. I'm already snapping. I've had people make no sense at all this past week. I hear the words they say. I know what they say is coherent. I don't even know if what they're saying is what I'm hearing. It only happened twice. Here's what they said. But I cannot find meaning in it. "The beer is on the aisle with the shoes on it." (when asked if there was a curfew to buy beer on Sundays) "It might be if its colder than my brain normally should be." (when asked where the pound cake was). I'm scared. Couple this with a history of chronic blackouts and already once-in the hospital for a-fib, I don't know what to think. My families have alzheimers and clinical dementia in their genetics. What if it's hitting me at a younger age? One of my aunts at 40 had to go to the bathroom in the living room. Not the bathroom, the living room anywhere she was. Sneak in and take a dump right on the middle of the rug or floor. If their brains are colder than it should normally be when the cake is no where in the answer, then what am I going to be like when I'm 40?

I think that's part of the reason I did what I did yesterday, too. I don't want anyone to have to deal with me. Ever. Not when I'm half-sane, and sure-as-hell not when I'm insane. That's been weighing on my mind a lot. Yeah, it's funny. Yeah, it was kinda cool and trippy. But no. It freaks me out too. I don't want to be like my great uncle and randomly go violent.

I love her. I love her with all my heart. Beyond expression. I don't want to hurt her. I think that's about all I have to offer her.
I am sorry beyond words. I don't know if she should take me back, I'm so fucked up. I want her to, because I love her, and I want to see her smile again. I feel so at peace in her arms. I should not have listened to my family again. I should not have listened to my enemies that threatened us. I was so afraid they'd gotten to her when she was held up. I didn't shit for 4 days. Normally, I have a very regular bowel. I felt like I was going to throw up I am so worried about her. I love her. Christ I love her.

I have to hurt someone. It's an inevitability. I need to hurt my family, and tell them that it's too much too long, too deep too hard. They fucked me raw, and I don't have any more energy to sustain their intents. I need to let them go. I need to move on. I need to go away. That's who needs the axe. They're so subversive. And they're great at deception. They are sweet people, but they are so fucking defensive it's a part of breathing in. I can't live like that. I'm not a mean guy. I never wanted to hurt them. It hurts to be treated as the enemy when you're just trying to be a friend. It hurts to be shot at over and over again when you don't have a gun. I won't disrespect other references' horror and victims of those horrors, but it's like those weigh on those who watch their senseless acts of violence and aftermath, and wonder why anyone could do that? It's like that. But every day.

I'm going to go try to call her now. Maybe she'll answer. Maybe we still have a chance. Or maybe I blew it out of the water. It's best for her if I did, I think. It's best for US if I didn't. I'm so mixed up. I used to call her insane. I think she's actually the more sane one. Flighty, selfish, and unreliable, but sane. I'm all those, and insane. And when she's herself, every bit of woman any man could ask for. I love her so much. I hate myself so much. I hate me. I love her.

I'm sorry.