I lied there...and there I lied. Anyway I am not lying about any of my experience or my perceptions or hallucinations or delusions...they are all true to me. But I honestly lied in a meeting tonight about lonliness. Being alone I like...found that if I had my computer back I would probably never venture out at night. Just because i have so many ideas i want to put to paper. But I said in said meeting, that since coming to meetings I have never felt alone. Hmmm, what a lie!
You see because intrinsicaly speaking that when you go bat shit crazy you feel alone. And the expectation delusionally speaking that said character in book is going to eventually become a fairytale come true and understand everything brings a certain edge of how cold it is out, and dark and cold. And silent. And there are seven cats and I am a cat lady with love for one man in the universe who exsists only in my head.
I told myself tonight, "well thats what you said you wanted right now." Fantasy, because I feed on it...the emotions it draws, which swell up great tides in me I have never known...creativity, passion, art, and a drive of all sorts of good things and I am afraid if I let go it will all go away and I will be an empty void. I mean how could I now with the build up of this story be like meh...I am done and my hero is a wimpy doucher? Especially when my eyes or heart, will still see no one else as interesting.
Tis a dilema fo shizzle. Believe me I have tried to find others to status, and since he is really only my character in a book, this is psychologically amazingly fudged up of me and I devote my bain of exsistence to one fricken vein hole, like a junkie. I am afraid I have a bottle of vodka named Adam Raposa. If I was a poet in the past, wouldnt I be Poe? Is it my fault I need one or the other, because the beer aisles are begging at me lately..."come back! We will get your mind off all that weird far out spritual love that no one understands...and you can settle right in with a plethera of male attention...there there now...heres a bloody Mary...its healthy!" See alcohol talks to me, Adam does not. It is a deadly disease.
But hey! I do feel accomplished, dont feel lonely and I am not blacked out at a bar
...awww my hero! I am codependent as fudge with walNUTS in a pan overcooked in my oven. Safe and sound and sober 2.4 years and counting. Thank you Adam Raposa...have a beer on me tonight! Making you up was probably the coolest thing I have ever done and if I ever figure this all out and get over you, finish a book series, and not die drunk....well halleluyah...its all gonna work out! I know God is in this...I know it all happened for a reason...I trust good and stength and prosperity to come out of my writing... a new gift and the vein of my sanity.
Writing is my needle...you know I should knit!
You see because intrinsicaly speaking that when you go bat shit crazy you feel alone. And the expectation delusionally speaking that said character in book is going to eventually become a fairytale come true and understand everything brings a certain edge of how cold it is out, and dark and cold. And silent. And there are seven cats and I am a cat lady with love for one man in the universe who exsists only in my head.
I told myself tonight, "well thats what you said you wanted right now." Fantasy, because I feed on it...the emotions it draws, which swell up great tides in me I have never known...creativity, passion, art, and a drive of all sorts of good things and I am afraid if I let go it will all go away and I will be an empty void. I mean how could I now with the build up of this story be like meh...I am done and my hero is a wimpy doucher? Especially when my eyes or heart, will still see no one else as interesting.
Tis a dilema fo shizzle. Believe me I have tried to find others to status, and since he is really only my character in a book, this is psychologically amazingly fudged up of me and I devote my bain of exsistence to one fricken vein hole, like a junkie. I am afraid I have a bottle of vodka named Adam Raposa. If I was a poet in the past, wouldnt I be Poe? Is it my fault I need one or the other, because the beer aisles are begging at me lately..."come back! We will get your mind off all that weird far out spritual love that no one understands...and you can settle right in with a plethera of male attention...there there now...heres a bloody Mary...its healthy!" See alcohol talks to me, Adam does not. It is a deadly disease.
But hey! I do feel accomplished, dont feel lonely and I am not blacked out at a bar
...awww my hero! I am codependent as fudge with walNUTS in a pan overcooked in my oven. Safe and sound and sober 2.4 years and counting. Thank you Adam Raposa...have a beer on me tonight! Making you up was probably the coolest thing I have ever done and if I ever figure this all out and get over you, finish a book series, and not die drunk....well halleluyah...its all gonna work out! I know God is in this...I know it all happened for a reason...I trust good and stength and prosperity to come out of my writing... a new gift and the vein of my sanity.
Writing is my needle...you know I should knit!