takes me years to even recognize misleading

I stepped into the

You want me to say this, instead.
You want me to write this... that you are right and I believe you, the ocean is there at the end of a long walk.
You described for me a reality as distant as anything could possibly be. Now you tell me to go walk off the end of the park, that's what you would have had to have meant.
I sit here doing nothing that I should be, when I can remember what those are, which is when everything seems out of order and crazy, just crazy, because those are not my details and they have nothing to do with me. I could write letters to the snails somewhere that a more clever girl ate for lunch today, and that would be just as well as the things on my list which is a circle because I don't know what belongs first.
You are the energy of every project, the referee of every activity, you tell me exactly what I want because you know what catches my eye and that was my secret because I don't need to talk about what I can't have. You do it for me? That is what you will do for me?
Would you like me to re-write my entire history, so that it is you standing next to me, in a reality in which either of us managed to stand still? You'd have stayed at Columbia and I'd have learned how simple it all was earlier, and by now you'd hate me because you'd be needing something else to hate in it's place. Or maybe we would have gone with my life, but you never would have let me drag you through caves and into the backs of strange pick-ups and sleeping in huricanes that ripped the tent to pieces and you'd have hated the indigestion of fear that doesn't make sense because you only suffer that shit to save people. You wouldn't have let me steal bread from trash bins to extend the weeks of laying in a cot watching large insects crawl the walls of resort utility closets when there wasn't even any fun involved in it other than the discomfort like seeing how long you can hold your breath because you don't have any talent and trying a little different every time and seeing clearly that it wasn't, it wasn't anything, there was nothing in your hands and nothing you could do and not being able to give into it. You wouldn't have allowed that. So we'd have gone with your life. Hate and love and all that good stuff. I'd be alone by now anyway but damn it can you believe I'm not fucking good at a thing I've tried? I bet I would have been if I'd really learned anything. You know I wouldn't have learned anything. Remember? Remember our apartment? Living at night, I haven't changed, except that it's not as easy.
The things that you describe are a wonderful fantasy. I don't think it's very nice of you to send them my way like that. I don't write to you my wonderful fantasy of the details of my good days. I don't even enjoy my good days. I'm too scared. Thinking about tomorrow makes me want to throw up. Because there's nothing in me at all besides food. I guess some people bleed. Or exercise the energy! But you don't like when I run, asking why I'm still throwing up hours later. I liked that, it made me laugh. You're being too possessive of my brain, sugar. The only stupid thing I'm going to do is nothing. I know my sweetheart liked you better than the one who's sweetheart I was, and you felt the same, so I respected that change. And I'm more alone now and I'm not sure what the game is, you silly outie only. Are you going to come to work with me tomorrow if I go? I don't think we have the fuel for it, you and me, together for the day. We've already used up our perversion, and our plans are fake. I can't fly. Remember? I can't fly. I can't go to the shrink. I can pay the dentist but I can't be fixed. There are so many places to lay in bed. I'd love to lay in bed somewhere. That would be great, love.