The wind keeps whipping by. It’s cold and whistling and makes the day feel hollow. Like the memories I’m trying to find. I’m curious about what went wrong, and how. And I’m tired of being afraid, but it’s all I know.
The last few weeks have been like a dream. Time’s lost, memories just seem to start in the middle. I spent a week in a total daze. In the end, I finally snapped. Another birthday spent alone, another attempt to help a friend backfired, and a lot of time spent worrying about my family’s health. I’m afraid of anything bad happening in my mom’s upcoming surgery. I’m afraid of social interaction, of rejection, of awkwardness, of so many things. I’m afraid of getting help, but after my nervous breakdown, I have to. I know I do. I keep trying to do the right thing and help others, but every time it just seems to go wrong.
The other night I sought fun with others, and ended up being cruel. I don’t remember this, but I regret it. I didn’t know what to say to a friend, one of the people who actually gets me. I wish I could regain some control and not be like this. I don’t want to be, I don’t mean to be. I don’t know what to do, but give up. My favorite time of year is forever screwed up by my own failings.
So I’m still sitting here, listening to the wind whipping by. I don’t want to hurt anyone, or be a nuisance. I’ll stick with the biting wind. It’s a good companion.