[sans titre maintenant]

i am too inadequate for words today. i am losing everyone. it won't stop raining here and the streets are flooding, i'm learning the meaning of flash flood, i'm wishing i lived in times of horses and long dresses, no internet, no complications. where i would be considered hysterical instead of branded with this heavy list of diagnoses. what happened to letter writing, what happened to social calls in the afternoons and freshly grown foods, to pining away awaiting lovers' letters? we have lost that mystery, that grandeur of patience.


and i have lost my mind, to where moving back east to live as a recluse and care for my ill grandfather sounds like the finest escape. i would go mad there. or maybe i would write something not worth shredding. 


my mother said, i think he's just tired. he's been fighting this pain for so long and you know, that gets really exhausting. i bit my lip so i would not scream, i bit my lip until i looked down and saw myself making oatmeal, already eating ginger snaps. 

but i keep coming round full circle and each time it's more raw. 


why am i so inadequate?
why do i ruin everything i touch?
why won't the world destroy me quickly enough? 


or perhaps i am choosing to lose everyone so i won't get hurt. 


why can i not write this post, do this one thing right??