cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Fuck existing. Fuck being here at all. I've said that it never gets any better, and I mean it. I think about her when I wake up, when I shop for groceries, when I write, when I search for my car in the afternoon. There isn't any moment in any day when I don't think about her. When I don't miss her. I walk from the post office to meet an Antifa source by the theater. And I see a woman, about the right height, with the same color hair, and it sets me off. There won't be any time that has elapsed when it doesn't break my ribs anymore. Everything I do, still. Like a vice-grip, crushing me. Everything. I miss her and it hurts. It hurts, so, so much. And I still can't reach out to her. It's been years. But I can't even try to talk to her until I am unimpeachably a success. My film isn't enough. My published work isn't enough. Until I sell this thing to HBO or a network like that, I'm fucking nobody. I miss her like I'm on fire every day. There is no part of me that even gives a shit about selling the film other than wanting to tell Helenah. To be able to say, 'I did this, and here is this life that I can bring you into, and we can live here forever.' That is literally the only thing that keeps me working on this project week after week. I miss her so much. And it never gets better. I have this love that just drips leaves and blossoms everywhere and hurts so much year after year. I want to stab myself in my face and die without her. This hasn't been worth doing alone. I don't want to be here anymore by myself. Fuck this. Fuck existing. Fuck being here at all. 12:24 a.m. - 2018-02-17 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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