Hate

Every day I crawl out of bed, I shove myself into a costume before I dress, for the world to see. When I walk into my apartment every night, I take the costume off and hang it up. It is only here, in my itty-bitty apartment, that I can struggle and fight with myself, and cry.

Holding "me" underneath that costume feels like the only way I can survive this fucked up world. Someone recently said to me that I must be so unhappy and so lonely living by myself. Trying to explain the differences between alone and lonely was the equivalent of banging my head on the wall. Maybe I should have banged HER head on the wall instead. Until she found some common sense.

That is all.