My Poor Heart

I’ve tried so many times before to write a blog. They always fail.

Either I don’t find the topic interesting or I make it so personal the people around me get upset.

I’m a writer. It’s not just something I do because there’s nothing more interesting to do.

I would love to turn off my brain and watch TV or a movie. I would love to listen to music and not worry about what I should be doing. I would love to go for walks without feeling guilty.

I have never been able to cuddle with the one I love without feeling guilty about it.

I wake up in the morning feeling guilty for not writing all night.

Why? Why am I at such an extreme place?

There are people in my head. These people want to live. They want to be known.

They bombard me with their needs constantly. I get no rest, no compassion.

Everything I do is compared to their needs. I am a slave to the people in my head.

If I talk on the phone, I have to justify it. Was it something that would get their story on the page? Or was I being selfish, again?

In comes my love.

“Are you ever going to get out of that phone? I shouldn’t have to interrupt what your doing. You should want to spend time with me. I’m your old man.” He says.

I can’t defend myself because he doesn’t stop talking to make space for my words. I spend the next two to eight hours listening to him pray to God about what a horrible person I am and all the things he wants God to do to me.

Throughout this exchange between him and God, I throw in comments and insults.

Also, during this time, my head sounds like a football stadium after a long sought after touchdown. There is so much roaring going on that I have have to yell to hear my own voice.

By the time I get him out of the house, I had been yelling for him to leave for at least an hour.

He threatens to have the police put me in a home for my own protection .

I’m beyond caring. I have spent the last few hours defending myself from him and the populated universe in my head.

My thought is “thank the Gods! They have the drugs to make them stop screaming at me. ”

When I get high, the voices fade into the background. They become quiet enough I can think logically, like everybody else.

So, what do you think? I have been told that these things are not real, that I’m lying about it. Either way, is it entertaining, right?

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