Secret Messages

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I’ve played the fool for far too long

Although too well I know the part

I gambled my heart on someone heartless

I can still feel it beating from a distance

Trying to get louder, stronger, tougher

For only it knows what it needs now

Golden thread, tiny endearments, bestowed

Nights of cradling and secret messages, engraved

On the sinews of this heart, sweet whispers of love

The only balm required to mend a broken heart

A repeat performance, a later life re-showing

Of what being beautiful on the inside is like

Despite the abuse absorbed in a unfeeling world

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Stuck in Quicksand

I’m a firm believer in owning your shit.

No, I don’t mean material things. I’m talking about your shit, your illnesses (mental and physical), behavior (good or bad), your words, your personality…every little thing that makes you the wonderfully complex person that you are.

I mean, let’s face the facts, you guys. We’re all hot fucking messes, just in different ways.

We’re constantly changing without even consciously knowing it.

I bought a different flavor of vape juice, even though change is scary. I’ve recently decided that one cup of coffee in the morning is sufficient to semi wake my ass up because more than that makes my stomach hurt, after more than 20 years of being its bitch.


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I’m really sorry, Stewie.

Doritos instead of cereal isn’t the best breakfast choice, but that’s what I’m having at the moment. (Munch crunch.)

Those are minuscule examples of what I’m trying to explain here.

I’m having a really obnoxious fibro flare right now, brought on by stress, anxiety, weather changes and being busy for too many days in a row. (Shocking, right?)

I’m depressed and trying to fend off anxiety attacks my every waking hour.

I’m just a robot, going through the motions because I have no choice but to carry on.

I’m really fucking tired and feel like I’m stuck in quicksand. I need a vacation.

No Cuddle Buddy For Me

If you’re not already following Spooky blog, you should be!

Spooky Action At A Distance

“It’s not even the actual sex that I miss, it’s the foreplay and cuddling. I need a cuddle buddy.”

“You need to learn how to cuddle yourself first,” my therapist Joan replied to me with a stern, yet loving look.

She gets it, though. It’s been ages since I’ve engaged in anything sexual, unless you count an occasional quick hug, a kiss goodbye or goodnight and a few pathetic attempts at more intricate things.

Asshat was having a difficult time raising the roof. He led me to believe that it was just a combination of him being dead tired after working a whole 6 hours a day, not to mention that I was in pain ALL THE TIME (total turn off to him.)

I’d try to explain that I could handle the extra pain if it meant being intimate with him again. I’d take an extra pain pill or smoke…

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