Wednesday, 2 February 2011


I dislike the fact I'm going crazy, or at least think I'm going crazy. I say going; I should probably have used the word "gone" instead.

It's scary.

I dislike the fact I got irrationally angry and yelled at my catalyst last week.

That was even more scary and somewhat confirmed my fear of me losing my sanity.

I dislike the fact that I now don't quite know what I can say to her without making her feel useless.

I wish she didn't have to deal with my bollocks. I wish I could persuade her that it's not her job to try and fix me. But most of all, I wish I wasn't crazy in the first place because that would make everything else disappear.

I dislike the fact I feel like I should be saying all of this to her. I've had a pretty awesome week where stuff has calmed down a Hell of a lot and I didn't want to ruin it by whining about how scared I am, or bitching about how miserable I am, and apologising over and over about how guilty I feel. I wish I had sometihng specific to talk about, it's all too vague. But every time I consider it there's a change in conversation topic and the moment passes.

I need to stop being so melodramatic.

I sometimes miss being fifteen and having no choice but to deal with things on my own. I forgot how. It makes me sad that I miss it. It was a lonely existence, but it was also incredibly simple.

Nothing is simple anymore. And ironically, sometimes it's just as lonely.

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