Woops.

I've really fucked things up, haven't I. I don't need to ask that with a question mark; it's more of a statement we all know is true but I haven't admitted to it yet.

So, where do I go from here? Shove everything under and be happy? Because I don't know how to do that. There's this nagging behind my eyelids and a tugging in my throat, and things are pushingharderandharder to come out, but I shovethemaway because that's what I know how to do. When I let them slip through the cracks, ease the pain that I supposedly don't have, I get called selfishbitchyrude. Maybe I don't have a horrible life. Maybe things aren't all that bad for me. Maybe people love me. That's enough for me to be happy, isn't it?

Itshouldbe. But maybe it's not. And maybe it's all my fault because I'm oh so special that I can give up fighting for one stupid night and endeverything. I didn't though. LOOK AT ME. I'm still here. Look at my words, I'm typing right now. They're coming out of my fingertips which survive off the blood coming from my stillbeating heart, powered by my brain which is still thinkingturningconnecting. I'm still here. Okay?

Please just, enough. I know I'm horrible for wanting to die and not giving a shit about how many people I'd take with me. It all ends up in a horrible game of Dominoes.
Tap.
hit you.
you're gone too.
byebye to you too.

One
after
another
after
another.

Too many and I can't be responsible for that. How the hell am I supposed to survive under this stress? But, I can't give in, either.

I'm stuck, as she said. And I can't escape. Frozen. I need her warmth. But, how long until I get hypothermia. How long until the blood leaves my typingfingers, slows my stillbeatingheart, stops my thinkingturningconnecting brain? How long can I survive here?


Too many questions, nobody knows the answers.

Wait it out, deal with it for now, just wait and see. Things will get better from here; they have to.