Sometimes I wish I did not empathize so much. For by caring, I leave myself open for the hurts. Many of the wounds are self-inflicted.
If I had a different personality, I might tell you it hurts when you ignore me. I would confess that I allow silly slights, real or imagined, to eat at me. I deduce somehow the fault lies with me. My heart says untrue, my mind continues to accuse.
Yesterday I made it through on autopilot. Many days I employ that switch. Somehow that seems such a waste. Trompe l'oeil of life. A masquerade. Pussyfooting.
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I often run out of spoons before I even get out of bed. http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/navigation/BYDLS-TheSpoonTheory.pdf
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I will miss you as long as I breathe, dude. Later.
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