Why am I doing this? I don't know, I felt like it. I think somewhere deep inside me I want to reach out and tell people how I think and feel but nothing I say will make sense.
My mind is organised chaos in the most confusingly brilliant way. I'm not a genius, I'm not Dr Seuss who can make up these wonderful stories and worlds from pictures in my head. I'm not imaginative or different to what ever normal is. I'm just me.
It's something I'm trying to come to terms with, being me. It's not easy I love myself as much as I love lying to myself at the same time as hating myself all mixed with a dose fluctuating levels of not caring. About my self, about other people, both, neither.
I've thought to much for one day.
Bye, see you tomorrow
