5 hours, have I had enough? If I were to view another's actions similiar to my own, words would come to mind like: obsessed, pyscho, desperate, sad, pathetic, addict...the list goes on. Thankfully these labels are only abstract constructs that do not apply to me. I have spent 1/4 of my day feeding a need that is insatiable; it will never get its fill. Yet I go out of my way to nourish it, finding myself unable to withdraw, wanting right now to continue to indulge for another 5 hours. Am I seeking validation? Yes. I want evidence that proves my pain is real, I must see it "in the flesh" to rekindle the dull constant pain ever present in my gut. My hurt is frozen, chilling my thoughts and intentions, and no matter what mayham results, it will never melt. For some reason, totally illogical and, if I may, "completely insane," I scour to find nuggets of truth affirming my conclusions and igniting a firey pain that radiates through my body. Oddly enough, this is where I find peace; the familiarity is comforting, I suppose.
Chunk down from the nebullus? I'll bite. I want to feel forsaken. I want to feel rejected. I pray for feelings of unworthiness. The ectasy resulting from experiencing rejection is better than any drug I've known. Why? What causes this saddism? I'm ever vigilent to inspire it.

I need it. I yearn for it. I wish she were fucking 5 other guys regulary, blatantly, carelessly, lovingly--yes, that would alleviate my apathy. I would sleep peacefully, comfortable with my world and that I control it.