Just Another Cry for Help...

I am Smokey Jane.

I am writing this blog so people will be able to remember me if I fuck around and don't show up one day.

I may seem like a humourous, little cutey to everyone looking at this physical body, but like the words of Smokey Robinson...


"Now if I appear to be carefree
it's only to camouflage my sadness 
 in order to shield my pride I try
 to cover this hurt with a show of gladness..."



I am here for the rest of you who sits...unmedicated...in bed with the door closed and a backlog of tears. I don't feel like talking to anyone...who wants to be around a downer?
Athough, being paid attention to would be kinda nice...then again...for WHAT?

I am lying here, staring at the ceiling...contemplating the outcome of my death once I establish a way to do it and who will take care of my responsiblities once I'm gone.

Sure, it might be a cop-out to some people, but everyone is different. There are certain capacities for some people..I just happen to be one of those people with a very low capacity for tolerating the way I feel.
I'm tired of the way I feel...
And I don't even give a fuck about anything anymore....why should I?

Someone told me that I allow myself to be unhappy.

I can see the logic in his statement: Why decide to be happy...when something is bound to come along and fuck it all up again. At least that is the pattern in MY life.

The pain is just too bearable to keep going up and down like that, and no amount of alcohol or any other controlled substance is going to keep me balanced enough for the huge gaps in my well-being.