All is calm... all is bright...
All doesn't feel very calm, though it should. I feel so anxious, though I shouldn't. It's so dark outside... not bright. The only glow is from the computer and TV and the awful lamp in the corner of the room. The clock is ringing, signalling ten o'clock. I'm the only one downstairs... but I'm not waiting silently for Santa. I'm trying to be good. Again, not for Santa... but for me. I don't want my Christmas present to myself to be scarred arms. Or, more specifically, more scarred arms.
I can't focus very well, and I feel like I need to throw up. But really, all I need is to go back 10 years. All I want this Christmas is to be a child again.
I can't focus very well, and I feel like I need to throw up. But really, all I need is to go back 10 years. All I want this Christmas is to be a child again.