I don't know how to say this.

where do i start at the beginning i guess but i don't even know where that is, so i guess i'm in trouble now, huh? I have self-esteem issues really fucking serious ones the kind so hideous and huge you just wanna run at the sight of them. I don't have confidence in my skills, not to read the cards, not to survive alone, which is exactly how I feel right now. I would cross the goddamn oceans on a hunk of wood, on an old weathered door, if it meant finding someone who could actually handle me. I can't drown in the solid waters of sweet mother earth any longer. This is no longer something I'm capable of, simple as that. Some days I just need people. You don't know how much until they're gone. Everyone's gone right now, and that sick fucking feeling of abandonment is gnawing away at my guts, eating a piece of me at a time until I just wanna explode, expel, export, something. My energy is huge, it is savage, an ugly beast I can't tame or control for the goddamn life of me. I hate being alone, I don't wanna do it anymore, I don't want to wake up and discover that this pain is actually mine and not simply something I've picked up along my travels. I don't wanna deal but I don't have any other options. I have no way to express it, and no way to alleviate it but to feel what I fear and thus to eventually understand it.

This is not the end, merely another beginning, a milestone in a long series of strange ups and downs that I can no longer categorize or even make sense of. Once again I find myself trapped in this tiny sweaty pit of a chamber, more of a jail cell than a bedroom. My prison walls are lined with garish images of sex and sick fantasy come to life, and my companion in all this, as always, is the notorious Mr. Grant, a brilliant drug addict and a total madman with a penchant for irresponsibility and odd comedy. Our journeys and adventures are of the chemical variety, the roadways paved in creepy pills and exotic herbs. I find myself growing weary of these trips, as the distance is growing shorter by the day, with my only hope for salvation lying within escape. If only a temporary one, of course. My indulgent personality doesn't allow for a permanent cease and desist, but I can try my damndest. Perhaps if nothing else, I can at least make my days more interesting as they go on.