I used to think I was gettng better, that I was beginning to heal, somehow my isntability and illness of mind and spirit was getting better.

I can see just faintly the line from where i cut myself on my inner arma few slashes with ym scissors which arent as sharp as they once were, that i am not as used to using as i once was

I thought that i had healed myself of the self abuse the self hatred, had my moodswings under my thumb, then why am i crying with no real erason? why am i so shaky when i lack the contact? why will i not let any conversation breech the surface.

i have been thinking about my lighter again about the singing of the skin uner ym wrist

i find it hard to beleive, yet all signs show, that my stability has been reliant on you, something i thought I had rid myself of, the need to rely on one person for my sanity, creating a sense of self based on one companion

it occurs to me that that is how the only sense of self i have ever really had came to be, from you. and is that bad? perhap snot, but my inability to escape my crumbling as you distnace yourself for one reason or another, surely that cannot be good

i feel like i am shatter at the seems crumbling from withing, mixing metaphors and waxing cliches

how do i fix this

i suppose i am not the one to ask, how can i fix it when i have never fixed any of my own problems, simply fixed yours and leaned on your accuracy, your clean joints and freshlyoiled wheels, repaired and fixed, shiny and new, forever being restored, like the golden gat ebridge. and I leaned on that work, focused on that work and somehow thought that i was takign care of myslef as well

however did i convince myself of that