I have so much I want to say, but the hurt keeps me from saying it. The pain stabs through my heart, and it hurts to breathe. There is nothing to say about the situation. I try to give people what they want, but when do I get to have what I want? I truly believe that I am just too damaged to love. To broken to be of any use to anyone. Why must everything be this way? Apparently, the PTSD, dissociative disorder, and need for companionship makes it hard to love me. I digress. Good night.
Published by frontporchmusings694846020
I am a good ole country boy residing in North Mississippi. I love to read, fish, hunt, hike and go to garage sales. Flea markets are a passion of mine. I read anything, but some of my favorites are: Dean Koontz, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, T.S. Eliot, Shakespeare, and I possess a fondness for the writings of William Faulkner and Mark Twain. If I am forced to choose, I prefer baseball to football. I enjoy Alabama football (Roll Tide)! My baseball teams include: The Colorado Rockies and Boston Red Sox. I am divorced, the father of two daughters and live by myself with Chunk and Roscoe (my dogs). View all posts by frontporchmusings694846020