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.

Never again.

I genuinely despise myself for feeling like this. It’s petty, ridiculous and irrational.

Time for a drink.

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