I'm starting to think some things (or thing, to be exact in my case) aren't fixable. So much to deflect the actual issue, so much to almost 'pretend' to be bothered by. I'm shocked at the times they do bother me, it makes me feel human aka "guilt". I can't lie anymore, but I'm sick to death of hearing my own voice telling people things that saddens them. Sick of anyone who gets close worrying themselves sick about me, sick of ranting seemingly endlessly. Sick of reliving the one thing I can only envisage, never say or write down. Sick of people asking "the wrong questions", sick of responding with "the wrong answers". Sick of being the one with all the problems. Sick of my nature being one of openness (I miss my reclusive early teens/early twenties). Sick of my nurture being dichotomous to what has become my nature. Sick of endless nights wandering through my mind. Sick of not being wasted (it's not even been a week since my big "quit effort". I don't know if I can handle it. Me without drugs is like a ship without a captain). Sick of people, sick of being sick of people. Sick of being sick. Not afraid of death, too scared to live. Too guilt ridden to actually do anything about it all.