The Great Empty Revels in its Mystery and Misery

Tell me tell me lies . . . The vitriol abd pressure you place on me to get a job and pay our bills, when you have not worked a menial 8 hours in a day for ten years is extensive, and you must admit, you have not the cash to help support and contribute in times of trouble. My IT job was stopping my heart abd I was having seizures and falling on the floor, drinking because I thought the sources were panic related, yet would not allow me to go to the hospital, always asking how I was going to pay for it and yelling at me when I wanted to go. Death, creeping from my chest to my extremities, weakening me like liquid nitrogen flowing through my Veins as my body shakes, afraid to anger you lest I drop further, as conflict caused my heart beat to alternately raise and slow down, all the energy sapped from my body. Yes I cannot be accountable, I am schizophrenic however I know somethings wrong. I make it through another night of panting in my bed. How are you going to pay your car payment? The cable bill? I ask for money for my medications abd am torn into like an Arby’s roast beef sandwich dropping with cheese to a fat man with a fetish for horsie sauce and orange crush. Time abd time again, I know I cannot rely on this freelance photographer even though I have taken him on lavish vacations and bought him cameras and gifts on my mediocre budget. When my life comes into stake this asshole won’t even let me dial 911 much less drive me to a hospital where someone cares to find out what my problem actually is. Dripping out of the lips of the photographer, I try to be the flavor he savors, the horsie sauce and the melted cheese, as I lose my job unintentionally, while trying to do the right thing abd focus, pray, strive fir a solution to my alcoholism. Alas, their methods do not work. I pray to be thrown out of the house, to be forced into the hard labor I’ve been doing, to be offered a sober hand, to be offered a drug using hand, any hand at all. I love drugs. I love sobriety. Now- I love emotional prostitution. I’m not on all the sites, just one, looking fir a generous friend who will not play pity bull attack when I need help with the bills because my gay boyfriend never shows me affection, screams at me while I lie dying, and emotionally cheats on me with a friend he says he lives while begging to be fucked in the ass on my free adderal. I cannot leave, he always stops me, and the gaslighting abd brow bashing are an art all in themselves. I pray to feel beautiful and have affection and a little financial help. what’s your price.com

Published by: Elaine M

I’m a magical 44 year old who bargains she will experience joy and happiness someday and has aversion to the great pain and suffering from the past, who longs for the enlightenment of all in a gentle and loving way. Email me, elaine@reversekundalini.net

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