If my words could sing the sweet symphony of my sorrow, I might then be able to get over the anguish I carry with me each and every day. I could lay my pain down on paper for days and still I would be years behind schedule.
I wish things were simpler. Sometimes I even wish that I was simply upset about being undesirable to the opposite sex. If my problem was so linear it would be easier to sidestep. My pain however, is a helix of personal resentment. In and out and back around again, my own personal emotional roller coaster. Fat on some ends, slim on the others; good times preceding bad times, sometimes more closely than other times. With each twist and turn I revolve around the core fundamental truth that I am in fact undesirable to myself.
I'm left feeling completely empty. I apologize in advance to the next woman who dares to suggest she loves me, needs me, or even likes me; the onus is on her to validate me. I'm an emotional invalid. I am a wrapper of a shell of a man. I used to meet anguish with physical distress - headaches, general malaise and the like. Now I just look to left, wondering if that's where what was once inside of me has gone. I only know that it has left me. I only know that I am lost without it.
I'm speaking in tongue. In time I will speak in truth. I don't know the truth. I hope it's cold and hard.
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