I’m crying anyway. I’m afraid the surgery didn’t work, I am in pain again and physically, with my hand on my body, it doesn’t feel right. I’m back to the state that I was when I started this page, waking up crying for no reason and then writing long streams of conscious thought to see if I can pick out some reason why, like examining the vomit of a suicide attempt victim to see if you can find any of the pills, to know what poison to treat for.
I for some reason feel like I have to sprinkle this blog with clues as to my real identity, there’s so much that I feel like people would recognize about me. However, I know they won’t. Not only would no one who knows me ever read this, but no one who “knows” me would recognize any of those things, because they don’t really know me. I wonder what I must look like to all of them, just a mouth open with barely recognizable words coming out. Even if I wrote here verbatim what I literally just hung up the phone from saying to them, they wouldn’t put two and two together and realize that yes, this is me. I wonder what that says about them, are they idiots? Underneath that, I wonder what that says about me, and that’s so sad.