All of my thoughts are getting spilled into the wrong places. I don't remember how to write coherently. Maybe that's just the lack of sleep. Which, as with everything else, is my fault. Let's see where my thoughts have wound up lately, directly or otherwise.
Some of them are put down line by line, to be remembered for now but never after. Some of them actually get expressed to real people. Some of them get drowned in mug after mug of tea. Some of them are evicted in spasmodic shaking that I can't prevent. Some of them turn into compulsive things like fidgeting and nail-biting. And some of them just become part of this curtain of dull pain that keeps the amount of self-loathing fairly stable.
I'm really good at making myself fall apart. And you're going to hate me for this, because you're just going to keep blaming yourself for making me feel like shit. Which is not at all the problem. I got over the shit-feeling. I generally do. Probably more quickly than I should. Now I'm just tearing myself to pieces because there's something I really missed about being broken and this is letting me get back to it.
I'm drowning myself in the things that make me hurt, and it's not just because pain makes me feel, but also because for some twisted reason, I like the way it feels. I'm tired of fighting my destructive impulses, so I'm letting them wreak havoc with me for the next four days because I can. There is probably so much wrong with me right now...
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