30 minutes on the new digital cheap ass timer and me and Word. Where do the questions end? If I follow the paths they lay out for me to follow, how far do I go in the quest for the answers? Where do I stop? What's the cost I'm willing to pay?

Everything is a reflection of my life and how I understand it. I see god in the details of my life. I see hell in the details of others. I am insatiably curious about everyone, who they are, their motivations for how they are, the way they see and interact with their worlds. I am just as fascinated with myself.

At the same time I am supremely disconnected from everyone and everything. Including myself. There's a part of me that sits in the back of my mind and just observes, observes, observes. I write now because that observer part of my self watched me lose my breath over an away message on gaim.

A new question for me. A new path for me to follow. A piece of potential truth I need to tiptoe my way through the lies and self-deceits in order to follow. Even if this little message wasn't for me, it speaks to me and it gives me a sand grain of truth to search out.

I self-describe as endearing yet annoying. That I am both. People find my perceived innocence and openness and naivety endearing. That I am so determined to ask the probing, difficult questions makes me annoying. I'm stubborn and demanding. It's not terribly attractive, I know. But I figure my friends don't care... much.

I'm so very tired. I'm so very exhausted. I've been fighting a deep, blinding depression for 10 months now and it's just not lifting. It's left me vulnerable to being used; it's left me looking at my life, dissatisfied and unhappy. I have so very much to be very proud of, but I can't feel it. I'm so very disassociated.

All that's left me is this love of humanity. People make me feel something, this driving curiosity. I want to know. Perhaps to make up for the lack of knowing within myself. I don't know what's left to do. I've started taking the anti-depressants to try and lift it, and it's been a week. And all I feel is exhausted.

I used to plead with the heavens, with the sky I wanted to touch and embrace, to make me normal, to make me feel alive and human. To feel real. No, to be real. To be more than arms length away from my life. To be further away than immersed in the pain. I don't plead anymore. I just make it through my days as best I can, and give thanks that they're no longer such agony, and hope for something more.

I once wanted someone to want me. To have a crush on me. It was a quiet wish, because I was tired of being tired. I was tired of being practical and smart and in control. I missed a time once when I was wanted, by a lot of people. An empty time, but as time passes, so does the knowledge of how empty it truly was. Instead I get tired and I make wishes that are answered by liars with their stories perfectly formed to get to me.

This is the colour of my depression. This is the measure of my days. This exhaustion. I sometimes wonder what price I am paying, for what sin I visited upon another, what I did to earn a life like this. And then I realize what a life I have, coloured with such intense beauty. For what has broken the shadows have been moments of such intense and beautiful light.

And now I'm out of thoughts to follow and type out. Well, not really. I'm out of the ones I'll put out to be consumed, read, experienced by other people. There are always the thoughts that I follow around inside my head, where it's safe and no back-stories to be explained to have the entire context. Context just is.

It's time to step back and slow down. I have a visual in my head of the Tai Chi step, "Reach up to pat horse" when I say that. Step back and extend. I'm just so very tired. Here's hoping the drugs will make it go away, eh? *laughs*

Oh, the away message?

"I've been looking so long at my pictures of you, that i almost believe that they're real "

Lovely, isn't it?