The thoughts that have been probing my brain for months, at last find an outlet.
Am I so pathetic now that I cannot go even a day without daydreaming? Is it even possible for me to go an hour without slipping away from consciousness into the sinful world of imagination? I think I have now come to the point that the answers to those questions are the ones that I’d rather not admit, and yet I know in the pit of my stomach and in my heart that I’m in denial about it. The sanity I had once rather cherished has given way to crazed lunacy driven by tender spots in the heart. My brain reverts to a more simple, primal state at every mention. I just can‘t get my mind wrapped around the idea. Or, rather, I can, I just would rather to not admit it to myself, and keep my heart safe from damage. Alas, herein lies my greatest character flaw, infuriating for the fact that I cannot do a single thing about it. The unfortunate circumstances that caused me to be so sheltered, so unwilling to open up to anyone anymore, so untrustworthy of all of those who try or are close to me makes me ache with despair. And worse yet, the knowledge that I cannot shake it, that I shall always have this scarred soul, dictates that I cannot even try, for in failure, I fall into deeper depression than the prior.
Sometimes I wish none of this had ever happened, that I had never expressed what I had, that I had kept to myself and left it alone, let it pass. Then, perhaps, I wouldn’t need to cling so close to my superstitions, wouldn’t feel the urge to keep my heart tucked away, to prevent any damage. And so, even if my heart, nay, my brain and very soul would allow such events to unfold again, I would not be able to handle it correctly and end up suffering deeper damage, or else I would not believe in myself to the extent required, and fail miserably.
Therein is stated a most frustrating predicament, and I simply do not know how to deal with it.