My words may be unread, yet I still need to write, to expunge.
My thoughts are a jumbled mess. I cannot untangle them. So little is actually making sense. I need to start to try and work some answers out before this breaks me once and for all.
I can’t risk being broken again.
I genuinely despise myself for feeling like this. It’s petty, ridiculous and irrational.
Time for a drink.