I can do the frug;

I can do the robocop
I can do the freddie
I cannot do the smurf.

This should be short because I'm really, really tired.

I'm slowly (read: rapidly) driving myself completely insane. More than I was before. Maybe I've already hit that point. I can't tell anymore. On that note, I probably have crossed the line.

Where is the fucking line!?

I'm going to say one thing loud and clear right now:

I fucking hate your guts.

and no matter how much I try to convince myself that's the cold, honest truth, it gets me nowhere. At all. It just makes everything feel so much worse.


If I actually hated anyone, it'd probably be myself for being utterly pathetic and crossing over into territories I swore I never would. Irrelevant.

The real truth is... I actually can't admit it. Not in words. Not anymore. That would make it real. If it's real, it'll hurt more, right?

Anyway, it's not like I overanalyse every word, every action. It's not at all like I'm internally freaking out because I feel like you no longer care at all. It's not like I struggle to hold myself together in public. It's not like I've stopped feeling like myself. It's not like I've been losing sleep or anything.

It's nothing like that, at all.

Because, the more I stay in denial the safer I am. Being honest doesn't help matters.

You've really fucked my head up, fucker.

Night.