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Three years isn't that long, but....

Triggers, maybe? Violence, drugs, abuse.....Like a dummy, I just read a journal-like.... document, I guess?.... That I had written and saved into a folder I named "don't read these" and wow.... Three Easters ago feels like a lifetime. Liquor and cocaine, needles and fucked up shit culminating in my being pulled from the back of a wrecked car by a state trooper and dropped off at a hotel in the middle of Nowhere, Nebraska, with my abusive ex screaming at me while I huddled in the shower and cried. We didn't even know what city we were in when we woke up. Now I'm really sad, thinking, why the fuck did I read that, and how am I even alive today? And why did I waste so much time being self-destructive? And why is it still so hard not to be, sometimes? Sigh. K, I'm done. Sorry, ya'lls. lulz. I'm going to go take a sad nap.


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