The fan blowing on my feet is the only comfort I can feel at this moment. The flannel sheets are soft on my skin, my pillow is tucked under me in just the right places, but I still can’t feel completely at ease.I can stare at the closet door all night long wondering why I feel like this, but that damn door isn’t answering back. “Stupid door.” Yea, as if arguing with a piece of wood is going to validate this feeling any better. What else am I suppose to do? I want to cry, I want to scream, I want someone, somewhere, to tell me that the very thoughts running through my head and piercing my soul are just temporary if not irrational. Who could I possible tell this to? BJ would think I’m making stuff up for some kind of attention from him. My mother would think the same I’m sure. My therapist would probably put me on more medication. Now, would that be such a bad thing?There’s that feeling again! The room isn’t real, I’m suddenly the only person that exists in life, and everyone else is merely a figment of my imagination. I know it. I now feel so completely and utterly alone that the pain of that is too unbearable. I want to, no, I need to escape from this! Maybe if I can just get the nerve to get out of this bed, walk into the kitchen, swallow everything on my counter and lay back down to sleep forever.I know that if I do this, my kids will suffer from knowing I’m gone. Not only am I gone, but I left in a way people aren’t supposed to leave for crying out loud!Now the pain is even worse than it was when I argued with that stupid door. Am I making this all up in my head? Am I allowed to feel as if I want to die? All I have to do is swallow some pills, that’s all and it would be over. But what if there isn’t anything on the other side? No way. That’s impossible, what am I thinking, there is no way that life doesn’t exist in death. Maybe everything that people say when they said they died is true; I can see my grandparents and my father. He will tell me it’s ok and soon my own children will grow old and I can see them as well. Then we can begin life all over again at another place, another time, if I chose to.This must be why I feel as if I don’t belong in my own body. It must be because I really don’t want to be here spiritually. It must be because it’s my soul remembering that its natural state isn’t supposed to be in bodily form.So, now that I’ve talked myself into leaving, why am I so damn scared to leave? I love BJ and the kids, I really do. God, I hate feeling like this! Now I’m just as confused as I was before I lay down to sleep.Ok, crying isn’t going to help but here it comes anyhow. I wonder if he’ll notice that I was crying on his pillow? Should I tell him how I feel tonight when he comes home in the morning? Should I call someone?Oh god, maybe I should call my therapist and tell her I’m thinking of leaving again. She’ll only talk me out of it and probably even charge me for that phone call. “Hey honey, guess what? The bill that just came in the mail is from when I was considering suicide? Can you believe that? Ha ha ha, isn’t it funny I get charged to be talked out of killing myself?” Yea, I can hear that conversation going really well. Fuck it, I should just continue crying myself to sleep and it’ll all go away in the morning. Maybe I’m some kind of prophet or something? Maybe this feeling of solitude is because I’m really God or someone special that is supposed to do something important in this lifetime? Oh now that will go over well with whomever I tell that to!Mmmm, this bed really does feel good, it was worth the money.Finally, I actually feel tired enough to sleep soon. I wonder if I was to take just enough pills to scare someone into admitting me into a psychiatric hospital. Maybe someone there can tell me what the hell is wrong with me.My mother would freak out for sure. BJ would never trust me again that I might kill myself. My kids would have to explain to their friends how loony their mother is. Fuck it, it’s just not worth it. There is no guarantee that life would be better if I was dead. I’m tired, maybe my dreams will tell me what to do. Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell Wanda about how I felt, and she’ll ask me a ton of questions about why I thought I felt that way at that time and I can tell her because I’m God and I’m allowed to. Yea, that is what I’ll do. Talk to her cause she won’t be mad at me for wanting to die. She won’t be mad at me for hating life once in awhile. And maybe she’ll even understand how I feel. DPD, what does that mean anyhow? It doesn’t make sense how so many people can feel the same way but nobody knows why? I know why, it’s because I’m god. We’re all God. We all know we’re not suppose to be in bodies, trapped with ugly feelings, hatred, killing, jealousy, and ego. Yea, that’s it, now I have to tell everyone so they can all understand. “By the way everyone, I realize this DPD is ruining your life, but it’s ok because you’re all God in bodily form! So be happy and finish the life you decided to live!” Ha ha ha now I’m laughing and crying at the same time. I’m fucking crazy! Hi kitty cat, did you come up here because you knew mommy was thinking crazy again? I’ll bet you know what I’m feeling, don’t you? No, you only want to feel me pet you, don’t you? I thought so. Fuck it, I’m going to sleep.

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