this old debt that comes up every year; creeps purple-grey underneath my eyes. it rips the sarcasm right out of my mouth. rages something acidic inside my insides.
and i've said it once, i'll say it a million times: it is not okay for a girl to wish she was a snake. or a coma victim. or an anne sexton.
it is not okay. but when it leaves, this bookie on my back, i say: i don't want my emotions watered down.
i forget what it was like. or what it must have been like for my mom to witness.
no, it is not okay. because i owe it. if not to myself. than to her. to those of you who have seen or heard it. and have worried.
so i'm actually gonna try this time, okay? try to fix it. try to pay some of it back. because i don't really want to sit here anymore, riddled in the middle like some oddly asphyxiated junky addicted to her own issues.
and because i just plain owe it.