Do happy things make you sad?
I am slowly coming to the realization that talking about my problems is degenerative. I was better when I didnt talk, when all I did was write. When my feelings ate away at my spirits. When my friends found nothing wrong in me. When I could secretly cry black tears in my notebook, alone, in my room. Talking about how I feel has been a disaster. My feelings overcame me, I though I had something to look foward to, a goal, an end to this horibble mass in my body. The deception grew, until it spread out my limbs and to my eyes. I saw nothing truthful, I saw everything in lies. The deception bred hope. This hope was innocent, it was playful, it was free. Deception bred bondage. The hope became hopeless, stuck in the maelstrom. Now it is bringing me down. Its draining my energy to fight everything else. Deception bred depression.
Anyways... I am just fucked up in  the head and I dont feel as if its going to get better. If anything does help, it will only hurt ten times harder... Open the door to my mind is a dangerous task... I say things I regret, I say things you dont want to hear. I say things, that nobody else knows...