It's ok that I hate myself. It's a part of who I am, it's the same thing as breathing or blinking or maybe even drinking. It just comes with the package. I can deal with the depression. I can make due with what I have, at least that's what I tell myself. It's ok for me to forget, from time to time with thoughts slipping from my mind. Maybe it's what I deserve. I'm lost with no indication of where I am or where I'm taking myself.
My life is an implication of who, how, and when for someone to maintain this level of insanity for longer than reality has to offer. Is it crazy that I like the fact that I can't tell if I'm lonely or if my depression is solely taken over me? I don't know anymore. My head feels like the cracks on the floor; stressed, uneven, not healed, not truly seen for what it used be. Once a complete masterpiece.
Oh no, it looks everything made sense again. I guess I let too much of the light in.
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Thoughts From 1:00 a.m.
RandomHere is a compliatiom of the things I think about at 1:00 a.m.
