~* Bad decisions make great stories *~
A Harry Styles dark romance that explores the intricacies of mental health, morality and sexual attraction. Enter a world of sin, opulence and crime.
*****
It started and ended with the wind.
She was a hurrican...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
So I think I'm having a psychotic breakdown. Complete and total detatchment from reality due to a decline in mental well-being. 'Decline' seems too understated.
Not to be confused with an emotional breakdown or panic attack.
This time I really think my brain is actually broken beyond repair. No throwing it in rice for the night or hitting the restart button.
I've been sitting awkwardly in Tink's living room for several hours now. Harry barely even entered the apartment, let alone showed me around, before leaving me to my own devices to wait for Tink to get home from work. As if the whole situation wasn't weird and awkward enough already.
I was doing ok until I got a text from Evan; well, comparatively anyway. It was blunt, concise and should have made me happy considering the subject matter - but all I could feel was gut-numbing dread. Every muscle tense to the point of pain which is not helped by the fact I've barely moved in hours. It made my stomach twist and clench painfully with the threat of regurgitation.
I feel trapped. I can barely breathe through the suffocating, constricting sensation in my chest - it feels like massive iron bands wrapped around my ribcage.
There's a loud ringing in my ears that makes it difficult to concentrate or think; instead I stare blankly at the wall and focus what little energy I have on breathing.
My eyes burn with a dry, prickling sensation that tells me I'm not blinking enough. I don't have the energy or mental capacity to care. My metaphorical 'too hard basket' is overfilled and it's as though all I can do is stare at it until it explodes and blows me away.
The broken part of me is dancing around that imaginary basket like a deranged child - giggling and tossing more issues in just to see how much it will take to break it. Break me.
See? Complete psychotic break. Like some 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' kind of crazy.
And yet I can't help but criticise myself even now. I'm doing it all wrong. I should be screaming and breaking things to mirror what's going on inside my head. Can't even do this right, Adaline.
Instead I'm sat here like an idiot staring blankly at a wall while my brain tries, and fails, to get a grasp on the situation I find myself in.
Even if I wanted to tear my world apart; this isn't my house. I can't bring myself to destroy someone else's things.
