can I keep it up

I've been hanging out with this 22 year old since june or july. until recently, we saw each other once or twice a month. we'd get together and watch movies and work on little art projects. sometimes we'd get high and have sex. sometimes we'd go to bar. once we went to a sex store and she bought a couple toys for herself. I liked hanging out with her because she was so feminist, and queer, and cute. red hair, left-handed, pool-player, and she found me attractive.
I can't even talk about all the drama that has gone on in my friendship with her. There is too much, and the worst of it is too recent. I forgot how fucking annoying it is to be 22 and to react wildly to everything (and I am someone who has MANY reactions) and to basically be a fucking messy pain in the ass. Is that every 22 year old? I think it is.
Since she got a girlfriend, though, she doesn't talk to me about things anymore. I don't see her anymore. She stopped taking her bipolar meds a few weeks ago and has been more of a wreck than usual. With how weird she's been to me since she started dating her girlfriend, I'm beginning to think it's time to friend-dump her.
I can only take so much frustration before I cut off the thing that's rubbing me raw.
My loneliness has done strange things to me. I never would have hung out with someone so young before, but she was literally the only person I could find who even kind of fit my admittedly strict standards. I was desperate. Orlando FL is not the place for me.
She's away this weekend, and the silence has been good. I'm not assailing her with my unanswered texts or being confused by her ill-worded responses. I have begun to turn my mind from her and onto other things. I've stopped working on the painting I was making for her, of her dead cat playing the harp while garbed in angel wings and a halo. I have stopped mentally keeping movies aside to watch with her. I am releasing my expectations and all the things we talked about doing together. I am cleaning her from my mind. Sweeping out the piles of shit and discarded promises.
I've had to do this with friends before. But never ones I was sleeping with. I'll miss having the opportunity to learn bdsm from her, but there are other people and other ways.
She just isn't healthy for me anymore.

write, please

I am trying to remember how to write.
Somewhere, I lost the ability.
Did it dry up after my debacle with ex-otter? Or did it take my mother's death to stem the well? Maybe Shiny caused the drought, or it could have been my move to Florida to be with fig. so many losses and gains. so many changes. I feel another one coming; or maybe I'm already in its midst.

I hate it here.

why stay in a place you despise, except to be with someone you love? at what point does the pain of location overweigh the love of person? couldn't I just move away with minimal things and be independent again? here I am a clipped-winged bird, not technically kept but still going nowhere. I know it isn't fig's intent, but it's what has happened. the more I'm able to retreat, the more I will until I am entirely hidden inside the snail shell. now I'm lost inside myself and can't figure out where to find people to draw me back out. because if there is one thing I've learned being here, it's that I can do nothing on my own without feeling drained instead of empowered. and I have very little left inside of me to drain.

I get high now to pass the time, to dampen the anxiety, to forget about the depression. It is the only thing now that can keep me calm and alive. I would have resorted to suicide but I can't figure out how to do it without harming anyone else. No matter what I do, someone gets hurt. someone has to find the body. someone has to identify it. someone has to hear that I died. they'd all think it's self of me, but isn't it more selfish to keep something alive that doesn't want to be?

it feels so strange to write again. to type keys instead of swipe my finger. I barely touch my laptop now, but for some reason I can't write except on it. I kept poetry journals for 5 years but most everything since then has been on a keyboard. my hundreds of notepad pages, each with a title not mentioned in the poem. I was so clever. I was 20.

spending all this time with a 22 year old has been really fucking weird. in some ways, it's been great, because it's been allowing me to have more sex with women. that's awesome. but it's also been bringing an unhealthy amount of drama into my life (note: any amount is unhealthy, which is why I have so much trouble keeping people in my life) and I think it spiraled this most recent bout with, well, insanity. mental instability. mood swings. whatever you want to call it. I am ashamed. I was trying to be such the cool older queer, and instead I went nuts. because I'm lonely, and it makes me fucking jealous as hell to see other people have social lives while I sit at home alone and cry.

I've tried going to meet up groups. I've contacted many people online. I've frequented coffee shops. I would go to shows, but I hate driving, and I hate people touching me. My anxiety ruins everything. if only I had a psychiatrist that could actually help me. can't work. didn't like the place I volunteered. denied by the other place I wanted to volunteer. I dislike almost all people. I am fucked.

I need to get out.