I'm so tired I could cry,even though I've slept more than enough.
I'm bitchy for no reason whatsoever and I want to punch myself in the face for it.
I'm this close to having a panic attack and you wanting to get me out of the house against my will isn't helping at all.
I'm relieved that my brother's back home,even though he's not quite paying attention to me right now.
I'm torn between the urge to create and the urge to cry until I see blood.
I'm hungry for something more than food,but I don't know what.
I'm momentarily content when I lose myself in a filmed story.
I'm aware of the fact that my methods of coping are pointless.
I'm so damn scared of everything that I can't even function properly sometimes.
I wish I could just live in a fictional world of my choice.
I'm tired of being mean towards others just because I can't be any meaner towards myself.
I'm angry at my aching shoulder.
I'm always taking care of cats.
I'm selfish because I'm falling apart.
I'm willing to read my anxiety away.