My head is close to horrible. If something does not give I am in a major pickle, to put it mildly. It is 1:45 am and sleep isn't anywhere near unless the pickle can go back to being a cucumber. It is quite miserable being me, at this point in time. I have worked with so many people with pain and other maladies so it is strange and lonely to be on the side with the crap going on, the crap seemingly with no end and the crap that seemingly will one day nail my ass.
It is the same crap that makes me look like a weak fool, hanging me out to dry all alone. It would be better to have something that would cause family and friends to gather round so that I could say goodbye. This crap has taken my visible soul; I still have a big one that is very very good but I have withdrawn so much that hardly anyone would guess I am still the person I used to be and an improved version.
Oh, woe is me, eh? This must sound so pathetic but I know not what else to do or say. I, most of all, fear that I - the man who swore he would be the best father possible - have alienated my beloved daughter. If I have, then that is a true tragedy for the both of us.
Stuck in this dill brine, I have too much time to over-evaluate everything.
My f__ing head is killing me, literally as well as figuratively.
Sometimes I feel better for having written. The cool-aid didn't work this time.
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