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It's been quite a few months since I've felt this miserable.
I thought I gained the wisdom I needed that would last me a lifetime, that I truly started to understand how to carry on life, apathetic about all the bad things, especially the inescapable fact of waking up in the body of someone you despise, as the person you hate the most.
I thought I had learned to embrace all parts of me, the bad, the evil, the ugly, intertwined with the good, but my mind started to reject this resolution, and so I'm back where I started. Though I could definitely say, I'm more in control compared to when I was younger, but there are days when I just cannot mute down the voices and push back the demons, and so I lose control of my thoughts.
I often think about death, probably more than I should.
Is it normal to think of death as a solution?
I find myself pathetic.
They say suicidal thoughts are often red flags of something serious, but, honestly, it's just routine for me at this point.
"Who knew morning light could be so destructive?"
Mornings are the worst. I don't want to be greeted by the sun. I hate the fact I got to wake up.
(A part of me thinks this statement is too much. I know I should be glad that I got to live, and I am glad that I got to see and talk to everyone I love, but, right now, my shadow has the louder voice, and although I'm thankful, I'm also... not).

I wish to be someone calm, collected. Cool, unassuming. Someone able to keep his cool under emotionally wrecking situations, almost apathetic, that kind of cool. At the same time, I like that I am kind, and that I care a lot about every one around me, almost to a fault. I'm not saying I'm a good person, because I'm definitely not. But I do care a lot, most times, more than I could admit. So much that it usually ends up hurting me. And so, I distance myself, from friends, from attachments.
Showing people my vulnerability is them walking on thin ice.
If they step too hard, I break, but I can't really fault them for it. I trusted them after all.
At the end of the day, the blood falls solely on our own hands.
Our own faults.