for once, i am grounded. back in school, secure relaionship, and an arguement with mom was settled. i completed my first task in school for six months. the joy is just bursting from me..

this time 4 years ago, i met my first true love. weeks later, he killed himself. i've been bitter ever since.

buuuuuut today, i'm happy! oh it's just fucking wonderful! an orgasm for the soul if you will. but, should you want to desire to die if you are oh so happy?

i feel joy but images of heaven are high in my head. i imagine walking off a mountain in particular, and i have no idea why.

a genetic disorder made me bipolar. is it just my backwards mind or some gross desire i have no knowledge of. could it be my recent disaster i am not even sure of existing playing in my conscience.

whatever it is, i'll keep walking that high wire. it feels too good to get down now.

no one knows, but i've been stuck in that time.

stuck isn't the right way to describe this, perhaps it's a choice, perhaps it's the post traumatic stress disorder. maybe you think it's just a tragedy, but with all of whats left of my bitter heart, i know part of erika rae drifted away with that bullet that quieted her first love's life.

i've tried to move past the event, really i have, but even to this day i get a sick twist of my stomach as my heart feels crushed between cinder blocks and my throat closes. every time i relive this in my end, i just think, it's going to be one of those days. i see myself, hollow cheeks, black eyes, sewn shut lips, trudging through leafs on an auburn kissed fall morning, begging god to end my life. i see myself getting dropped off by my cheery mom at the bus stop on a blizzard morning, and begging her to let me stay home, just today, anger pours from her mouth as i shut the door, and the turns singe my cheeks the whole way to school. i see myself walking the orange stained hallways to the office for my weekly counseling appointment, climbing in that black chair, letting the words seize my mouth as i confess i desired to kill myself, and he simply told me i didn't. i see him ripping that red pass from the pad and i as i float back to class, i plan what no one should ever plan. my suicide.

that next sunday night, i see myself, cleaning my room, chatting to God, and climbing the wornd down carpet of the moaning stairs to the medicine cabinet, clutching that puke orange bottle in my hand, and walking down the stairs with the emotions of an eight year old girl. i se myself, waking up to my mom, my poor sweet mom, scolding me for not being ready for school, and as i point to the bottle, she flees. the next time the shutters pull back from my eyes, my mom and dad are crying over me, carrying me to the truck, rubbing my back as i puke the pills, cuddling me in the waiting room, bawling as they send me to live with my grandparents for a while.

i fucking fucking FUCKING hated this period of my life. it was the pain of dragging your emotional suitcases every where you weny, and losing your friends because your boyfriend committed suicide. even though i went through this hell beyond hell, i loved god even more every day through it. god was my only friend.

no one knows, really....