Breathing

what is this all adding up to...i take a look at myself, as objectively as i can, and all i see is another little kid...a little kid who fucked her life up so bad. she can't write, she can't even talk in coherent sentences anymore. she's bipolar again. what a stupid, pathetic little kid. i can see how she got herself kicked out. she's one of those kids who you just pity and walk away because there's nothing you can do. she won't let you.

i've called myself faithless...i've called myself beholden...i've called myself so many things that were not quite true then, but too true now. i've lost my faith, i've given my blood...and for those of you not familiar with blood rituals, that probably sounds really melodramatic. but at this point i don't care.

something funny (or not, whichever), if you stay around me for about an hour, you'll see me swing from manic to depressive. it's entertaining.

the colour black has never been so intense before...this whole relapse thing, it's changed colours... the lows are so low, i can feel the coldness...but the highs, the actual highs, they brighten all the colours, intensify everything. sound, smell, taste, tone...i don't know about touch, i wasn't really paying much attention...it's like...i don't know

i was going to end this with something either poetic or happier. but you know what? fuck it. imagine your own happy ending