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.