a-17

The marks on my wrists have faded, it has been long since my last struggle to escape the means of my confinement. Although it seems impossible, the entire outside world is still there, I've just forgotten it altogether. I'm trying to make this sound more flowery and beautiful than it really is, which is just another way of lying to myself about how I feel. It's like everything I know is in this fight, there's this grey haze that's struggling to take over the scene, but everytime it advances these flashes of brilliant colour leap forth and fend it off. The world is still real, I know it is, but my existence keeps trying to shrink down to these four walls, my mind keeps trying to forget about everything else but my room and my possessions and my job. Everything is on this downward slope, my senses, my true senses are deactivated. The world is real and incredible and beautiful, but I keep trying to forget about this fact and I don't know why. Maybe it's a defense mechanism, by blocking out feelings like this, i lose access to depression as well as joy. It's a shitty trade though. I'd rather whip back and forth between misery and ecstasy than stay trudging down this stupid narrow little pathway of safety and neutrality.