Pause.

I told myself this wouldn't really be a blog, a journal.  It'd be a place for writings.  Things that I thought out.  Well, I'm sorry, but I'm breaking free of that thought, hopefully, temporarily.

I'm sitting here, pondering how, when things calm, and I have time to think, how it all washes over me again.  The tide comes in, covering the sand castles I've built, the shells I've collected.  They go out to sea and leave me as the tide swallows me up.

The shells will come back later.  I will rebuild my castles and moats.

But it'll all happen again.  Repeatedly.

I cannot think.  I cannot face this.  I know I have to, and, in a way, I am.

I can't even type the words.  I cannot even type the words.

Backspace, backspace.  Long pause.

I cannot even gain the courage to go.  To face what is here, what is real.  To be there when I am probably needed.  Because, then, it is real.  I avoid talking about it because, then, it is real.  I'm not insane.  And I know what's going on.  I just, simply, do not want to face it.  I cannot look it in the eye and say, "I accept you."  Because I don't.  I say, "Fuck you.  You're fucking terrible.  Go the fuck away and leave us alone.  Fuck off and die."  Or I simply ignore it and pretend things are normal, despite how they really aren't.  Nothing is the same.  I know that; I feel that.  Nothing.  How can you go on ignoring, pretending, when all around you is changing and not as it was or will be?  You cannot...  I guess I can't live in this space much longer.  This limbo land, this denial, this ignorance, whatever it may be.  But I want to.

I want to pause time.  Rewind.  Catch things before they fall.  Prevent what needs to be fixed.  I want to have what most other people have.  I want that.  I want to call it my own.  I want to not worry.  I want to be carefree.

You're curious.  I know.  Or you do know.  Please don't type it out here, spill the beans.  Please.  Let me live in my denial.  Let me pretend just a little bit longer.  Or hold my hand.  I've been told to talk about it.  I cannot.  This is my outlet.  Until I find another.  I'm speaking to everyone and no one at the same time. Maybe it's comforting, hoping someone will stumble upon this and read it, maybe they'll send some sort of hope or something that I'll feel somehow.  Who knows.

If you pray...please pray.  If you hope, please hope.

It's selfish.  But I'm not ready to throw in the white cloth.  I'm not giving up without a fight.  I'll fight dirty, too, if I have to.  But I'm not giving in.  Don't you fuck with me, whoever you are, whatever you are.  We're not ready, we're not giving in.  So maybe you should be the one to give up and wait longer.  You fucking bastard.  You fucking piece of shit bastard.  I'm sorry.  I don't mean it.  Just.  Please.  Don't do this anymore.  Please.