Now she's smiling, with herself put back together.

I broke down in the car tonight. Sure, I was all sorts of under the influence, but it was real.

Jaimie could probably taste the uncontrollable that was nestled in her passenger seat. We sat outside and I proclaimed, 

" I can't take what the world throws at me anymore." 

She expressed her opinion, she told me if I really couldn't take it anymore I wouldn't be here.

Then I think about all the times I've thought about offing myself, the ways I could do it, what would result in it, all sorts of terrible things. And I tell her, "you're right." Because she really is, and not because I'm drunk and in the most agreeable of moods. Sam says I need something solid, something reliable.  I just need something to stop the ongoing, commiserating party that goes on in the depths of my head. I'm going to lie down and wake up and forget I even wrote this.

On that note, when you look at me my insides want to crawl out of my mouth and go west. And you asked me why I look away when you look at me. You stir up a storm inside me.