I hate this feeling of limbo. Everyone assumes we're dating, but uncertainty is in the air. We have a thing. So unclear; murky water, mud ghosting through swamps. What are we? Yes, we've gone on a date or three. Gotten high together. Kissed a few times. Slept in the same bed. He's saved me at three in the morning when I had no where to go. We sit together, talk together, smoke together. But are we together?
It's safe, though. This way I don't have to worry about my fickleness, my inability to stay with a guy for more than a month or two without getting bored. I get distracted easily, and I know he's not good for me. So I'm tempted to let it slide, just go with it, keep us in this uncertain state.
On another note, I had my first cigarette in two days today. It fucked me up. Light headed rush, woozy on my feet. But it passed quickly. I know I can go without smokes for days, weeks, even, if I wanted to. I weathered these nights without one, hardly bothered. But I miss their comfort. I apologize if I seem obsessed with this issue, but it is pressing. I don't think I even want to quit.
Not to mention that it helps me assume one of my personalities. I fit in with one of my groups better when I smoke. It makes me feel safe.
I cut myself the other day, and made myself throw up this afternoon. I'm slipping backwards, down the glass mirror that whispers all of my imperfections. I made myself stop, though, halfway through both incidents.
I've missed opening up my skin, though. Guess I'm just a psychopath. A monster.
