Sick

Can't you see that I'm trying?

Can't. Two meanings: either one is not allowed to or one is not able to.

Which one is it, because I'm done trying to figure it out. We are all composed of our experiences, our emotions, our reactions. We can either choose to have something happen to us or for us.

I'm sick of running my course, the course set out by other people instead of me. But if it was my own course, it would most likely lead away from the roads of other people. The roads I'd rather be on. Does that make sense? It doesn't need to.

I'm sick of my stupid OCD routines, and kidding myself, and internal lies, and light switches set in their ways. I'm sick of being cryptic and Googling my thoughts, and the fear of difference. I'm sick of wondering and wandering through my own memories to look for something I missed. I'm sick of that face I make, and how it changes everyday. I'm sick of the backspace button.

I'm sick of censorship and exposure, I'm sick of being sick.

When someone tells you something, and then that someone turns out to be a fake lie, does what they said have to be a lie too? We shouldn't be worried about self-loathing, you should, and I should.

I hate when someone says "You wouldn't understand", because that's really insulting. I think that chord that connects my brain to my spinal cord was broken once, and someone tied it together, but the knot is unraveling. Too bad I despise the thought of reaching into myself to fix the problems.

None of this connects. It's like a broken mirror, that someone drew a face on in Crayola marker.