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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 3 of 3. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by susan47 on January 30, 2008, at 20:26:54
the problem is iatrogenic in nature, you see.
Iatrogenic.
And that is the problem.
Largely, one of disclosure.
One of self-probing. Probe. Probe me, doctor. Doctor. In places here and there and everywhere...
body, mind and soul.
Body, mind and soul.
What you don't have, I do.
And likewise, I'm sure.
I'm sure.
I do.Sh*t f*ck damn lie, it's a lie, it's all a living lie.
A lie I live every f*ck*ng day.
Darling.So dark, my feelings for and about you.
You.
Yes .. yes, you.
Who are you?
My identity's so wrapped up and around,
up and around like a snake, a viper . the hissing sound I make is your breath in your own ear, the expulsion of life as i breathe mine into you.
Mine into you, into yours, and all your beholden
the memory's mine for the making
I
love
you
i love you, i love you, i love you.
You are the drug.
I breathe in your life, as you expel mine.
Posted by susan47 on February 1, 2008, at 20:00:13
In reply to what it is, is this, posted by susan47 on January 30, 2008, at 20:26:54
It isn't that, it isn't about that.
It's about beauty, about living, being and belonging.
Free of any drug, free of any addiction.
Why do I hate myself this much? Why do i allow the life to be squeezed out of myself by a person, by a drug, by anything at all? Where's the job I must have had at one time? Where's the joy that once came with life? Where is it? I'm screaming out, I'm dying for help that won't come, I'm dying for lack of desire to be alive, I'm dying inside and I don't know how to stop.
Posted by susan47 on February 2, 2008, at 21:45:07
In reply to Oh, no. It isn't., posted by susan47 on February 1, 2008, at 20:00:13
> It isn't that, it isn't about that.
> It's about beauty, about living, being and belonging.
> Free of any drug, free of any addiction.
> Why do I hate myself this much? Why do i allow the life to be squeezed out of myself by a person, by a drug, by anything at all? Where's the joy I must have had at one time? Where's the joy that once came with life? Where is it? I'm screaming out, I'm dying for help that won't come, I'm dying for lack of desire to be alive, I'm dying inside and I don't know how to stop.
I hate when I make errors.
It sucks.
Typos which make everything suddenly nonsensical .. whoa. Who said it ever made any sense? Nothing makes any sense to anyone but yourself, you know that.
You're the reader.
If you choose not to be the reader, perhaps you're the writer.
Perhaps you could be the hero of your own story.
Perhaps all of us could be, could be our own heroes, could be the change we want to see in the world.
Perhaps i could be good enough.
perhaps, you could be. Perhaps you could be not just good enough, but Absolutely Fabulous.
This is the end of the thread.
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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
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