Excessive

Oh hey, you're cool if I scare you away, so you'll never want to be around me right?

How did I end up back here already? I'm doing this to myself, no? I had things to say... well, I have things to say. I have scenario's I'd like to explain, to write scripts for, of all the unique and different ways I could see myself getting hurt in the future. Different ways to cause my heart to sink and to feel hopeless, different ways to prove that people don't actually care, that we're not in this together, that you don't know me.

I want to sit on a couch, well... specifically my couch I guess. I would like to have a clear mind and no worries. Innocence? No fuzziness. Fuzziness like when I can't recognize my own thoughts. I sit and try to figure things out, but feel lost.

I had more to say but it's lost now.

Do you remember when I could write a really long entry filled with intelligent and clever words? I kinda do.. but it's been awhile. I have so much to say and no way to organize my thoughts. I do have smart things to say, I do... they're in there somewhere. Words that would offer insight into my mind, offer insight into what I'm feeling and why. It would probably help me if I could figure it out, to convert feelings into words.

I'm not actually doing that poorly... I know these paragraphs seem to tell a different story, but I was much worse off last week, and this week has had it's share of positives. Twice I've drank like I used to drink... non-stop, spending more money than I'd feel comfortable writing out, and that old familiar feeling. I guess what I'm trying to say is... I've been worse. That's not to say I'm okay, it just means... something. There's something in there.

Are things better now or before? Wait.. before what? I scribbled that in my book... to remember it... only fifteen minutes ago. I don't know what I was asking.

I will figure out what's going on with me soon... I think. I will run out of people to complain to... no one can put up with it for that long.

Oh yeah,

You know that I'm a contradictory asshole right?

I'm not crazy, the author is just writing me to look crazy.

ps. fuck.

405 words