Indecipherable Mess

I dipped into the nevermore-pool last night. I touched the bottom.

I'd rather not go there again.

I'm tired of being afraid. I'm very tired of being afraid. Of being sick. Of it.

I called the hospital to see about getting a refill on my prescription because this sickness isn't gone. The nurse I talked to was oozing kindess from every pore -- she eased my tension (white-knuckled hands kneading white-pine corners). She said she'd give a message to my doctor and call in the prescription to the pharmacy.

They haven't called back. It's been close to four hours.

This isn't helping. They aren't helping.

I can feel the fear bunching up again. I can feel the make-it-stop-make-it-stop-make-it-stop rising like bile in the back of my throat.

And I thought I'd be able to regain composure and preach about strength.

Not likely. Not happening here. Not helping. Not helping!

Please, for sanity's sake...don't ever be afraid to talk. Don't ever be afraid to make your feelings known, to say what's circling the thought-drain, to paint pictures with your words. I know insanity when I see it -- and I haven't witnessed it riddling my muse.

"Stitch up my emptiness..."

I'm so afraid now. So afraid of what's going on inside. Just give me pills and dope me up and make this fear-pain-stress-ache-irritation-paranoia stop. Please. Please? Please!

A coy grin: what happened to bravery in the face of the unknown?

I miss you already.