I want to stop running for a while. But coming from someone who's constantly asking what's next, it's difficult to imagine that I will sit still for long. It seems like the usual running doesn't do much now. I guess, there's no quick fix. My social life inevitably picks up speed during the night. And so as the embarrassing evenings out. I can't pinpoint the exact moment that I slip back into that horrible psychotic person.I had screwed up again. There's no surprise for some, for others I really don't know..
No one could imagine that I'd done it. people was probably convinced that someone has held a gun to my head. It was beyond comprehension that I'd willed myself to this level of past gone. He cried, which always makes me cry too. I have been listening to him with what I've done. I spoke with a tension like a rock in my throat. in which I have to keep swallowing in. There is not much to say in my defense. There is no point in telling a fraction of the truth because there is no gray area. All the facts of that incident are laid on the table, like plates of foods. I know the whole ordeal needs to be written about. but 3 weeks afterward, I'm still far too close to that night to see it clearly how broken or fucked-up I was. I will need the perspective of 10 more years before I understand what I am looking at. hoping the guilt I feel as a result of the incident will melt away. I would like to make a word to those people but until now, it's like there's a flood of restless urges pulsing just beneath my skin that I am fighting to contain. They say, "Time has a way of healing." We'll see about that.
No one could imagine that I'd done it. people was probably convinced that someone has held a gun to my head. It was beyond comprehension that I'd willed myself to this level of past gone. He cried, which always makes me cry too. I have been listening to him with what I've done. I spoke with a tension like a rock in my throat. in which I have to keep swallowing in. There is not much to say in my defense. There is no point in telling a fraction of the truth because there is no gray area. All the facts of that incident are laid on the table, like plates of foods. I know the whole ordeal needs to be written about. but 3 weeks afterward, I'm still far too close to that night to see it clearly how broken or fucked-up I was. I will need the perspective of 10 more years before I understand what I am looking at. hoping the guilt I feel as a result of the incident will melt away. I would like to make a word to those people but until now, it's like there's a flood of restless urges pulsing just beneath my skin that I am fighting to contain. They say, "Time has a way of healing." We'll see about that.
