Things from my past keep coming back to haunt me. Every time I think I've escaped them, I hear a familiar line or get an old feeling that just makes me say 'oh yeah, I remember this place'.

Even the hurt is so familiar that it's boring. It's the frustration that kills.

So hard to know what I should do with myself when things are so out of my hands like this. And it's almost funny...trying to be a pretender in the land of the blissfully ignorant. I try so hard to be happy for others, even when I know they're making stupid mistakes of the heart and of logic. But it's so hard. Why do I feel like I've been down every possible road that I can go down here, like the only chance for something new...something, God help me, *satisfying* is somewhere else. I got into my car tonight and I screamed until I almost lost my mind, and yet almost found it at the same time. Almost. It's not the pain, it's the sheer and utter helplessness and futility that puts me so close to the edge, all I can do is look down and get dizzy from the height.

How can I even go to someone with this? I don't need words, I need someone to just be there, but no one understands that. Everyone that knows me has be there as their rock, but I can't do it for awhile. I need to break down, but I lost the manual in my long struggle to be strong. Is it possible for the rock to crack itself? I need some relief from the pressure before it breaks me and I end up in a rubber room somewhere. Even tonight, all the displays of people taking for granted what they have, the spiteful plans of revenge, the belligerent denial and outright rage at petty, petty things. I had to flee...I couldn't be there. I'm sorry to everyone who wanted me to stay around, but I just couldn't. There's just been too much confided to me in the past few weeks. And tonight was a cornucopia of jaded thoughts and situations, stabbing into me like hot knives. Who can blame me for screaming insanely in the car? I just couldn't take a second more.

The worst part is, I know I've got it easy, so I have no right to complain...compared to the things that people have been telling me about themselves. But I feel like by taking all of this stuff on, I also share in their hurt, their anger, their frustration. And it all piles up. It hurts.

I know I have to get out of here, but what then? I know if I do go somewhere else, I'll become so much of a hermit that I will have no one in my life. I already trust so few people, and some of them are people I've known for a long time. How am I to trust someone new? How can I trust anyone when they lay their previous deceptions bare for me to make judgment on? Who am I to forgive them of their sins like they so vainly want me to? Who does the confessor go to when he's about to break? God is there, but it's the holidays...he's busy.

One day soon, I will be gone and alone, far away from any drama and all of my past. I'll be smiling then, even if it is only to myself. And I won't be your fucking pincushion anymore. Who oh who will you tell your dark secrets to then, I wonder?