I'm never down with it, up on it, in on it. It doesn't particularly depress me, but it makes me want to live in a cave. By myself.

Little by little, I need to relearn how to release.

Where to start?
...let's try tomorrow.

But don't worry, really, because I'm dancing in my little warm room at three minutes to four; I'm an insomniac again. At least I know who I am.

Also, I'm 20, and 20-year-olds should really have blogs and not livejournals. So stay tuned.

I'll leave this places with ulcers or a hernia, tension fear depression kneeling deep down in my gut like the little girl who hid under tables and bookshelves. But she drew pictures, and I can't write; I don't write anymore because angst isn't the same as frustration, and somehow words are useless, shrivelled things not even worth the effort to ( Read more... )

I can't believe that I'm listening to a Greek cover of Natalie Imbruglia's "Torn."

I can't believe that I kind of sort of like it.