Choking on the Ashes

I need to write, I need to expunge. But it's 12:29, and I need to get some shit done, and go swing dancing, to make my world less of a claustrophobic clusterfuck. I'll make myself write in here tonight, to let some of the pus and bile out.

I've snapped a few times. I drank myself to sleep several nights last week, cry a lot, and feel like I'm gagging on regret and loss and pain. I've written a bunch--usually while drinking--and I hate this. Tonight I'll write. This is a quick rip off the top of the scab, because I've got Institute in my ears, and my throat is so full of loss that I can barely breathe. I looked up the five stages of grief this morning, and it made sense--for a few seconds.

Alright, deadbolt's on. Time to get another coffee and make this shit work.