"There sure are a lot of bridges in this town. . ."

Tell me about it, sister o' mine. . .

Or, perhaps you shouldn't. . .that could be really problematic. It's already problematic. . .the way I'm doing just about everything in my (oh-so-limited) power to avoid jumping off one. And not even so that I could die. I don't really think about what happens when I reach the ground (or water or moving car or whatever else happens to be there). On the contrary, I think about doing it because I believe that that feeling of falling (or flying?) might help me feel like I'm alive again. Alive. Awake. Present. (Just maybe not present here. . .)

I haven't felt like that in so long, and I've tried--with consistent lack of success--doing anything I can think of to spark something in me, to flip a switch, to wake me up. But, regrettably, some less-than healthy doses of blood, vomit, electricity, neck pain (from whipping my hair (back and forth), logically), food, and OTC drugs later, I still feel like nothing. Like death.

My cheeks are hot. I like that. I think it means I'm getting sick, but I still like it. It makes it feel more sweet(?) when I cry. That makes no sense, and I don't know how to explain it. It's just . . .more warm. More young. More justified. Less sticky and salty and wet.

I like body heat in general, actually, and usually someone else's more than my own (as long as it's not exercise-induced heat. . .I hate sweat). Maybe it's the complete and undeniable isolation talking, but the idea of being close to someone. . .of touching. . .a hand, a hug, whatever. . .just feeling that warmth. . .sounds really nice. Okay, so it's definitely the fact that I've never felt so alone before. . .so friendless, so loveless. . .but what does that matter? Maybe something along those lines would wake me up. I'll never know.

So, I guess I'll stick to bridges. Here are some from which I would be very okay with jumping:

And I guess I'm aware that aesthetic appeal played a big role in deciding which bridges I chose. . .but that's okay. I was not aware, however, of my attraction to water. . .but maybe that's coincidence or something. It looks pretty, and, like I said, I don't really think about what happens when I stop falling. . .

Sorry if these posts are. . .too honest? This is about the only place I feel like I can be honest though. . .and even now, I'm holding back. What the hell. . .when did honesty become such taboo? So freaking consequential. . .damn.

-Daisy