My soul is screaming.

You might wonder who the fuck would read this shit. I’m not sure even I would with this neverending angst. I can’t fucking win, not even for a goddamned second. (Insanity for now, get your mind off the hard glittery edge for a moment.)

Is it true that you can’t escape who you are? What in fuck’s name does “Fight Fate” even mean? (Alone and nameless, I walked the Universe.) Benadryl? Check the apothecary. I need some heavy shit, we’ll see what happens.

Oh, yes, I have crossed over to the dark side a little, a classic, this one. Makes me wonder if I’ve just been sufering from withdrawal this whole time (withdrawal of [redacted], no doubt, oh, the enkephalins of love(lust?)) I feel no pain, it’s true, that ragged, raging, splintery glass shardy feeling is gone, truly anesthetized, I can poke it and [probe] it but there is no pain.

(Means my doom, shouldn’t have thrown away that gin.)

The problem with happiness (even this kind) is that it goes away. Worse, you know it goes away. But at least it gives you time to prepare for that oncoming wave of pain.