Gross

My head hurts.

And I mean it, it really hurts.

Realizing that owning a business is the business of DEPENDING on other people is the most soul-sucking experience I think I've ever felt.

You're left no other choice, because without them, you'd have no time to breath, no time to sleep, and no time to even think.

Because every breath within you would be consumed by the unending experience of knowing that you're riding a burning plane down to the ground and you're too tired to make an emergency landing.

God.

If I could close my eyes.

And yes I said the lord's name in vain.

I would be able to imagine the untold horrors of what would come to be of me if I tried to shut it all down.

Progress that I made, worked so hard at, and then for me to get sick again and again, trying to push down the mounding debt, would only kick me further across the ground.

Kick me fucking harder.

PLEASE!

For trying to get a handle on my life, for trying to rely on people who promise me things that will make it right.

More fucking empty promises.

It must be the trauma in me.

Draining my very energy.

My very being.

For when I think of all the things that eat me,

it's the empty pools of words from lips told to make me think they'd build ships

while mine sinks.

It's... gross.