Love, Lockdown the Heartless

I did it.

I messed around and became one of those people who so lost them-self in the "idea" that now I can barely recognize who I am. All for the sake of not being a quitter. And look where its gotten me; a slightly odd mix of songs on repeat from Dawn Richard's "Tip Toe" to Jazmine Sullivan's "Live a Lie" to Kanye's "Heartless", and a headache to constitute a Richter measurement. 

I've picked up my phone at least 12 times in the past hour, 6 of them I've pressed that green button in vain. Yet I'm still up, more out of habit than hope. I've become desperate. Don't get it twisted...not the desperate you're thinking of. I've been blessed with far too much sense far too long for it to completely leave. But I am desperately struggling to not appease my inner desire to become the woman so heartless and go filling my voids spending time with the ones I know I can have, but don't want just to say "be worried".

I'm succeeding for the most part (by default of living in the middle of nowhere), but also because I've come a long way in realizing that side of me is my former extremely low tolerance for even the slightest imperfection mixed with a fortress of defense mechanisms and immaturity. But every now and again, the urge to be the kind of bitchy that puts Blair Waldorf to shame comes back and I revel in the days when I felt invulnerable. That false sense of untouchable came with its price...a body temperature far below 98.6, and additional chill from the gaping hole where a pulse was supposed to originate. So why this internal battle if such a past seems to not be an attractive option?

Because insomnia still keeps me company and tears still sting my face like they did back then. The difference is that now, its over someone besides myself. At least then, I had just myself to hold accountable...but how do I fix this?