azurelunatic | All I ever talk about

I'm one of those freaks of nature, not easily classifiable. I need at least two friends: one to be madly in love with, and one to babble endlessly about said beloved to.

I'm one of those scary all-or-nothing Geminis.

I'm feeling increasingly claustrophobic. I feel as if I can't be myself without stepping on someone's toes. So I retreat, and leave myself in my space, and keep my own hours, and isolate myself.

Which increases my madness.

I feel like I'm going to have to leave, if this keeps up, because I just can't take it. I don't know what I can do. I don't want to leave. This is my home. I'm panicking now, on the verge of tears, verge of hyperventilation. It's too late. I'm not thinking straight. But this thought has been an undercurrent in my mind: leave. Leave. Leave. Leave. Leave before it's too late. Leave before you have to die. Leave before you go somewhere Darkside can't follow.

My entries cycle between sane and not, proportional to the hour of the day. I know this. I know this. Was there ever a time, though, that late-night was comfort, strength, creativity, not fear and terror?

We've all been stepping on each other's toes, lately.

I'm terrified. Terrified of what I might do to them, with careless words, terrified of what I might do to myself upon hearing careless words.

I'm not safe anymore.

Perhaps I never was.