I said I was questing for sanity. What a load of croc. I threw hysterics yesterday and can't really remember when was the last time I did this. Screaming like I had really gone mad. No inhibitions any more. Throwing a roll of toilet paper at the door. That's a good idea, mind you. I get the satisfaction of throwing something and not breaking anything. Except I am so sure the neighbours heard me, and I think one of them had guests over.
I have really gone crazy. My dad said he thinks it's black magic. And this, after I decided not to believe in it. Christ.
I lost it for an entire yesterday. I don't want do these things. The last thing I want to do is this. I have become a slave to my emotions and have no idea when this happened or why... I see myself as nice. Don't we all? As not wanting to harm; yet I do.
God knows why I had to break down at this point in time. At 23, when I should be living out my youth, I am stuck on a bed, unwashed hair, unbrushed teeth. Not understanding, not understood.
Khabardaar jo tum ney nayey dost banaaney ki koshish kiya toh.
What a fucking rigmarole over nothing. The brain that I cherished has gone. The comfort that I thought I had was all imagined. I just don't have anything. Except for food, shelter, security for which I AM grateful for, Lord. I am just weak, with weak body and poor. And going insane.
God knows why I reacted like that. I hate myself for all the evil I am capable of. Satan is right, young females are no match for his suggestions. Look at how many girls I know who are falling in 'love' and having relationships with boys.
Look at me. I wanted to be good. All I am is broken. And retarded. And unoriginal in my pain and disillusion. This is what Blake and T.S. Eliot were on about. Romanticism? Fuck that. Is there a suicidal movement in literature?
I have really gone crazy. My dad said he thinks it's black magic. And this, after I decided not to believe in it. Christ.
I lost it for an entire yesterday. I don't want do these things. The last thing I want to do is this. I have become a slave to my emotions and have no idea when this happened or why... I see myself as nice. Don't we all? As not wanting to harm; yet I do.
God knows why I had to break down at this point in time. At 23, when I should be living out my youth, I am stuck on a bed, unwashed hair, unbrushed teeth. Not understanding, not understood.
Khabardaar jo tum ney nayey dost banaaney ki koshish kiya toh.
What a fucking rigmarole over nothing. The brain that I cherished has gone. The comfort that I thought I had was all imagined. I just don't have anything. Except for food, shelter, security for which I AM grateful for, Lord. I am just weak, with weak body and poor. And going insane.
God knows why I reacted like that. I hate myself for all the evil I am capable of. Satan is right, young females are no match for his suggestions. Look at how many girls I know who are falling in 'love' and having relationships with boys.
Look at me. I wanted to be good. All I am is broken. And retarded. And unoriginal in my pain and disillusion. This is what Blake and T.S. Eliot were on about. Romanticism? Fuck that. Is there a suicidal movement in literature?
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