|The Mystery Prison|
Many many months. Other diaries; old, new. Some gone, or still existing. I feel sadness licking me again. again. It was only this week I said my problem was not with depression in itself. something else using depression. well...
K's choice. They are something to be adored. I think.
It is strange. as I have gotten better, I have grown away, far away. It is not even apparent for the most part I think. I am really just realizing the extent of this. now, this week, these weeks. I cannot open up to anyone. and I do not even know why, although, it does fit perfectly with the theories I had. Have.
I do not know why I am not in bed. this crawling seems to make me sleepless. bloodless. I have been, since forever now. I intend to stay that way, even when I crave it. I have bruises on my arm. I never bruise.
This sadness is, not wanting to die, not wanting to bleed or anything. It is wanting to sleep, to curl up, to drink warm milk and read, hibernation. maybe that is all it is.
Still, there is the issue or not relating, which is there no matter what my mood is. I cannot tell anyone anything hardly, about how I feel. when I do, I am generaly testing waters, and mostly it ends in fleeing. I dont even know why, it seems to be more and more. when it should be less and less.