A stranger at Lightening In A Bottle hugged me and said, “I wish I could help you.”
I did not understand at the time. Help me from what? Help me find the clues? Help me answer my questions? Help me Love?
I believe he wished to help me out of the hell I exist in… the mental illness.
H O L Y S H I T if only my fingers could type as fast as the thoughts that just went through my head. Scrambling.
What is my name and why THE FUCK can’t I help myself? Why is it a thought will trigger the writing of this post then disappear? Where did it go?
These thoughts… the ones that roam the collective consciousness… they are damn smart. They have come up with a justification to all insecurity. They invented seat belts for the … well fuck I am not going anywhere with that thought.
Really, no where. I refuse to follow them down the Yellow Brick Road; only to lead me to myself behind the curtain.
Want to hear the most irritating thought I have?
“Save it for your book so you can make money.”
FUCK YOU AND YOUR FUCKING MONEY
xoxox, the one who can’t be a hero