hey

I have been writing but this that I'm working on is very emotional and deep and is cutting to root of what I've been through in the past month. It's volatile and going to touch a lot of nerves, but it's great. It's the truth. There's a lot I'm hesitant to publish because it's not favorable to some people. I needed to get this down, though…..it's a lot. I had a treacherous three weeks and am very shaken and rattled by it but…..? here I am. Story of my life I seem to always step into combat even though I don't actively seek that out. Always like being in a tornado and yeah your friend can fuck off because I washed that goddamned floor every morning when no one else did. By the way. But this and I'm getting my period…..summer in London trying to find Yeats' house and yes where Sylvia Plath committed suicide yeah it's fucked up and morbid but people do this stuff you know. I knew which place it was before seeing the address. You just know, sometimes. Right then my period started and …..I couldn't…..stop it fortunately I was wearing clothes that could conceal it then walking around trying to find a place where I could take care of this……blood gushing out from me but trying to act normal. I finally found like a coffee shop and bought a muffin or something then went in the bathroom and stuffed tissue in my panties as much as I could. Then the next day the phone incident and being held hostage, my father on the phone and for a time they thought it was a kidnapping. Really stupid yeah I mean I admit I wasn't thinking clearly. It could have of course been far worse. I didn't plan to get my period or try to make a collect call (ok dumb I know but I thought I had asked this person and could not understand what he was saying back to me)…..was it that night I got robbed? At least my passport was in my room but the key was lost a huge security breach and considering what happened in Perugia or well anywhere but the people hanging around outside that place were not nice. They were the kind who would do something like that. For as flimsy a reason as to take money or jewelry. It was really a mess but why do I keep thinking back to this? Just that I keep getting into scary situations then wonder how the fuck I got out alive. I don't plan to do it. But it happens. I had wanted to see the Yeats house but even everything …..I don't know why I felt so dazed and otherworldly or like I was it maybe was beyond just that I was in an unfamiliar place.  Whatever there's always that element but…..it was every day this kind of stuff. I have been to a lot of places or at least a decent number but…..? I am mortified sometimes looking back…..I mean at my own impulsive …..I wasn't really thinking but unaware how visible I was. My friend once told me I stood out. What is that? I don't try to. Oh God I do feel terrible guilt about certain things. So much that I had to shut it out because …..I didn't want to be surrounded by that and aware of how…..even if it wasn't intentional it was it happened and…..I wanted to well no one likes that feeling. I saw an interview with Susan Atkins where she talks about this……"Charlie" telling them while they were in an LSD dream world that there's no such thing as guilt. Don't like feeling guilty? So don't. Where does that leave a person? I can't not feel it because I mean I do have ethics as a person. Always feeling that but what could I do but move on? So yeah I acted shoddily and wish it'd been otherwise but what do I do? Try to make it up? How? It was…..