I am a sick bag of nerves and nobody can tell me why. Nobody can tell. I am so incredibly ashamed about being so aloof and so scared. I wait around for hours just for my turn because I want everybody else to go first. I don't want them to have to wait. And for what? For the simplest of things. I am sleeping and waking every hour on the hour and I am waking and sleeping while I'm awake. Too asleep to be awake, but alive and kicking all the same. I have very few classes and life is all school and nothingness. Nothing in between. I have met newness but it all feels wrong, like it always has done. I've lived her for a whole damn month, a month and what? I still haven't asked permission for my boyfriend to stay? I have to ask permission? God, I miss him and his love and his comfort and his way and I'm only realising now how much it matters. How am I only realising this now, after four bloody years? After I ruin it. Today, one of my lecturers called me out and compared me to an alcoholic in an unsoftened analogy and I sat looking and wondering because I didn't realise what it was supposed to mean, what he was trying to say. He read us a Charles Bukowski poem last week in the middle of class, just because he felt like it, and I couldn't help but think that maybe this man might just know, but now, I don't know, I don't know. I wander around with a boy that really tries to help and he has good opinions of all people but this quoter of Charles himself and I wonder, but he says he can't tell me just yet, and it makes me wonder so much more. Is this creativity? Is it this sick feeling in my gut after I haven't had a drink in who knows how long? Haven't worshipped a damn thing other than my own sadness, and I'm left here wondering why the fuck I had such an aversion to those mood stabilising pills. Why the fuck I felt the need to kill myself when somebody was actually trying to help. Why I quit them and decided to be happy all by myself, because truth be told, it doesn't work and it can't work and won't work and I can't change that. I am unhappy and I need help. One of my best friends in the world called me from miles and miles away and we laughed and fuck I miss her and I miss comfort and I miss familiarity and why can't I shake this feeling in my gut? I keep waking up in the mornings and missing a dead woman all over again. Like Alzheimer's, it hits me in the earliest hours when my body's yet again refusing to sleep and I keep seeing her grave and how it was so much deeper than six feet down, and the thud that rose made on the lid of the coffin. How can a flower sound so heavy? My heart is so heavy. Oh my heart. I miss her in an incredible, heart wrenching way and there is nothing and there is nobody to even begin to fill that void. Oh I don't know. I am not the social butterfly that I started out as. Truth is, that was always a lie. I just can't hide it as well now. Just because. Because of everything that's not going right. And things are well and things are good but it doesn't feel like it at all. People would kill to be in my shoes and yet I wake up panicking that my cousin's killed herself because I haven't yet been to visit her in the psychiatric unit across the road and I feel bad and that doesn't help my gut either and I haven't eaten anything proper in way too long and I feel sick sick sick to my stomach and oh god, please help me.