masochist

Restless nights, restless heart and mind and soul. I can put on a strong face, but behind it I am dieing. I struggle to switch positions, force the ready-made women inside of me to come forth and take charge of the three lives who have been left in my care. I find the nights hardest, when the rooms are dark and the emptiness is suffocating. What do you do when there's nothing left, when everything you have has been expended and you've tried every thing you know how, and it just never equals more than the same run-around that has become almost calming after so much time. I find comfort in knowing that despite the destruction, I can count on the numbing of your voice through the receiver reprimanding me. I can count on the disappointment, the pain, the tears - and when there's nothing else to count on, you take what you can get.