Addiction.

Aaron

We're all fucked up inside, in one way or another.
We all have our own problems to deal with.
We all have regrets and mistakes that are carried with us wherever we go.

Life can be difficult and draining, so fucking difficult. so mentally and physically straining.
but our minds somehow still function, we still somehow wake up every single day, worse than the day before.

Anxiety, that's what consumes my life now. That's what got me into this hell hole.
I've became familiar with the feeling of heaving bricks against my chest, i'll be completely utterly totally honest, it's not the best feeling in the world.
Anxiety dictates my thoughts, my feelings, my words, my health, my entire life.

I thought that I overcame it, I thought I had fought it and finally won. but i guess not, it's still here, creeping up every time i think i'm getting better.

God damn im so fucking tired, i'm so fucking drained. i'm both emotionally and physically tired. I wanna leave this place, i wanna get out into the world and do better for myself. But instead, i'm stuck in here because of my stupid illness'.

I can't remember the last time i saw beautiful, white snow on a christmas morning. fuck i can't even remember the last time i saw the shining bright stars in the darks darkest sky.

Memory is a tenuous thing, like a rainbows end, or a camera with a failing lens.
sometimes my focus is sharp,  every detail is as clear as ice. other times, it is a hazy field of frost, like the meadow outside the bathroom window. I think it is a meadow?? or a parking lot, or a garage for all i know.

Pain isn't the worse thing.

Atleast you know you're not just another darkened shadow, darkening someone's wall the closer you get to them.

Eighty square feet. Eighty square feet is all mine for the remainder of time i'm in this hell hole. Only two tiny beds, a phone( that doesn't even work), a closet, one chair and oh, a glorious painted window, that doesn't even crack the slightest bit open for a tiny amount of air.

There's two beds, and only one person in my room. does that mean i'll be able to have a roommate? someone as equally as crazy as me living in the same room as me? how exciting does that sound.
Some annoying ass paranoid schizo, rambling on through the night. Hey, maybe he thinks he's the one who drew the short straw however, having to room with someone as crazy as me.

Does wanting to die equal losing your mind?