too much writing

I am there.

I am in that fictional, physical place that exists in my body.

I used to call it "where the soul lives"

But that name was too long, and did not describe the feelings attached to it.

For an hour I have thought about whether to write more, or write nothing.

I choose to write more instead of the alternative.

I need to dull these feelings before I attempt any sort of sleep.

(I might have to make a new blog to funnel all these shitty depressed feelings into.)

I should know better by now.

Pieces of me are regressing.

Supposed to have stopped.

Shut up.

mid october, mid november.

A few bad days and it feels like

mid october, mid november.

I am happy in the summer.

I am supposed to be happy in the summer.