After vain efforts to fetch sleep for about three hours now, I slowly opened the computer to jot down a few things I have realized while counting sheep to while the wee small morning hours.
I realized I have again consorted to my suicidal personality. Sigh.
I guess I have grown mad these past few days. I mean, suicidal on that note would also entail wishing yourself dead rather than facing the truth that you have wreaked havoc in a much loved person's life.
During my immature years I'd definitely think over jumping on a precipice just because of a failed reciprocation of a childish sentiment. Definitely things have started to change over the years.
And so have my feelings.
It's no surprise to tell you how much insensitive I have been; after all, guys have almost been the same throughout history, right? But then, resorting to change your ways should definitely make people affected hope for the best you can do to change your ways. And if they can not see the changes you've promised you'll do, then the problem starts to brew.
I've done the same mistakes for the nth time. I would admit that. But to tell you honestly, I would meditate on welcoming a nightmare if that's what it takes for me to get the hell out of this nightmarish reality that has been mentally and emotionally torturing me these past few days. Before I resorted to some immature pulse-slashing. Now? I hate to say this, but, welcome back, stress.
Or maybe I'm just dizzy.
Or maybe my head is just in a spin. Or maybe it's due to my diagnosed respiratory tract infection (I'm asthmatic, remember?).
As I check the clock, maybe I was right.
15 minutes to 3 in the morning.
Maybe I should simply get myself a night's rest.
I just hope I would not dream of anything about jumping off high cliffs. When it dawns on me, I might realize then how nasty that proposition would have been.
Anyway, I'll try to sleep. Time check: 3 in the morning.
Sheep counted: Bah. Just legions.
No nightmares for now. Bad dreams are good enough. Sigh.
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