Holden on to Catcher in the Rye

I'm a neo crazy cat lady. I'm gathering stray tragic hipsters and storing them in my basement. I shouldn't have read Catcher in the Rye that fifth time. Or maybe I should read it again. It always opened new mental windows every time I revisited. Its maybe been 20 years. I'm going to need to curl up with a bottle of windex.

compiling

I'm compiling. copy and pasting. re-reading. Somethings seem as if I'm reading them for the first time. But its been 1000's. nothing has changed really. I did change for a bit. Seemingly had everything under control. Scratching this scab has opened a wound that never healed properly. I wanted everything to be fine. I wanted to love one man. I wanted his love to be good enough forever. At least that's what I thought I wanted. Then one night I wrote myself a note. It read. "I'm aware that the decisions I'm making are destroying everything I have. But what if I don't want any of it?" So there it is. Three years later. I've built so much. Strived so hard to be everything to everyone. Gone on and on in a romantic-less relationship that I tried too hard to make happen. And in a matter of 3 months - pic axed it to a pile of rubble. If I write this story. Its not going to end well. And I feel like the entire world wants a happy ending. But sometimes you don't find god, some times you don't find love, sometimes you fuck everything up and nothing works out. That's just how some stories go. Breast cancer tales are filled with pink fuzzy ribbons and stronger mother daughter relationships. My story is black and stinks of rotten chicken.

SV's side of the story

"I looked at this very well documented blog and think it should be published. I also want to apologize for not being there for you. I remember pieces of it. I was in plenty of hospitals at the time too. Losing my mind trying to not punch Sanford Brown nurses in the face and learning how to change pee bags. I was constantly around flammable oxygen tanks listening to him say hey, give me a cigarette. I spent many days driving him around the city so he could see it one last time trying not to blow up. Everyday was like go to work, go to hospital, find a bar. My sister only came to visit twice and my brother wore mossy oak camo to the funeral. I had to pay strangers to help me clean out his house because they were so useless. I try to block it out. All I did after was watch the video projector on my new couch and drink white wine. Maybe that is why my writing never makes much since, oh well alcohol only kills the weak brain cells. It was a good idea to move to boring ass South Hampton to get a change of scenery, I have learned to enjoy the buddy walks. I am slowly starting regain consciousnesses. When Joe moves out I think I am turning his room into a herb and orchid laboratory. Those glass brinks are like a huge magnifying glass for sun light. You could take a nap in there and wake up with a tan."