It's not so bad, really. I just feel like punching someone tonight.
"The past is just a story we tell ourselves."
I just. I don't know. I hate myself tonight. I want to waste away. I want to live only in books, only in art, only in music. I want to exist in the pages, fly through the air on a melody. I don't want to be so... stuck. I'm not meant to be here. Everything here is so joyless.
And here I was, expecting to post a nice entry about how I've been doing better. A lot better. And I am. I've been happy for what feels like an ungodly amount of time. I haven't been this consistently happy in a timespan even more ungodly. But tonight's a bad night.
Doubts. Quarrels. Loneliness. I don't particularly like myself today. But maybe that's just a story I tell myself, too.