Date

I feel hollow inside. My emotional self has for quite some time been restrained inside a cell of my logical mind, where it has been raving, ranting, yelling and screaming obsceneties at things. Overall, I've been here, emotionally, tense and angsty, raving and angry, upset and insane as it beats itself against the cold concrete restraints of my logical mind that's at the time pretending to be social, doing technical work, cleaning the apartment, dealing with economy.

Today it ended, the emotions have smashed themselves bloody inside, and passed out. I feel like a stained and sullied mess, withholding from the outside for too long.

Don't take it wrong, I normally feel emotions, all too well. I'm not as distanced as to have them bundled up somewhere that I don't notice. It's just that if I let them rave and take control, I end up doing bad things, hurting myself, ripping things apart and generally having a complete breakdown, because that's what they want to do. That's what they are doing inside.

But right now, I'm empty and stained. Dirty, vile and putrid on the inside, and the raving core is gone, crawled up somewhere, bleeding too much to feel anything at all, a dull ache all that reminds to remind me that I have to deal with this. It can't go on.

One of the things I have to deal with is the feeling of being a dealer in emotional satisfaction. Come to me with your low self-esteem. "I'm just a nobody who doesn't matter." I feel you, I know your anxiety, I know you mean it in yourself. But for my mind, you're suffering from withdrawals, begging me for another fix, another injection of emotional gratification in order to feel okay about yourself. Not good, you know deep inside that it doesn't matter, that it will pass again, just that it is something to bring you through the day, or perhaps just the next few minutes. You want me to open up and let you feel the emotions inside me, to know that I care, to feel the honesty of appreciation well over you.

And I could do it, without trouble. Without lying.

And I would feel bad about myself. Horrid, hating myself, feeling used. But now, I can't even satisfy that. There's nothing here to supply you anymore. Your source has dried out. And the rejection stings, doesn't it? Those who could turn get the positive feedback, now, its just words.

I don't want to be your dealer. Don't come to me with your withdrawals. Don't sully me, I've sullied myself enough.

Well worth noting, that this is not a personal assault on anyone. The "you" mentioned is a plural, both for people I know in life, and for a few who know me only online, as various online personae. Don't take this as an assault on anyone. It isn't, it's my own hollowed out bitter reflection about how I feel at times. Let it be at that, please.

The junky needs the dealer the dealer needs the junky
The junky needs the dealer the dealer needs the junky
The junky needs the dealer the dealer needs the junky
The junky needs junk needs junk
The junky the junky needs junk

-- Cubanate - Junky