Lolz, someone just asked me if I’m alright because I’m sitting in the streets with a cup of free coffee and plastic bag with clothes in it. Like the old days but then no one would talk to me at all. Probably cuz I had a death hawk and a face full of piercings. At least this time I’ve got a warm coat and it’s not snowing so no need for wodka to keep myself warm. I don’t know why sometimes I’m going back to that. Maybe it just feels known and in that way safe. Or it’s just because I feel no connection with people and I’m just a sick fuck. At least you can go to people like you. I’m sitting here alone as waves of memories flow over me and I’m slipping away. Wish that someone would just come and sit with me, talk to me and listen. Seeing me. Not running away from me when I’m fragile. When my nerves lay bare. Instead of telling me how to live my life. Or tell me what to do. Saying that I should toughen up because they cannot deal with seeing me this way. What is it I’m actually doing? I’ve been here many times before. Is this like a bandage on my soul? Or am I just pouring salt in my wounds trying to feel anything. To break through feeling numb and empty inside. Really don’t know what I’m trying to achieve. Guess I’m sicker than I thought. Can’t believe I’m actually smoking again. It’s getting colder now. I used to just keep moving. Walking without a destination. Just to stop shaking.