I thought I was getting over my biggest fear. That of dying/the afterlife/the abyss. Turns out, no. No I was not getting over it. The slightest thought of it brought me to the very edge of a full-fledged panic attack. I am scared of my scaredness. Should I seek help for this? Would rambling to a therapist do anything? I'm not insane, just scared. It's horrible and dehabilitating. It's like being paralyzed by fear. I cry. No, bawl is a better name for what I do. Is that a phobia? Because I don't think it's irrational... but other probably view it as such. Oh it makes me a wreck. Agh.
Well. I also see that dreaming is probably an unhealthy habit, because when reality comes to call I'll end up cripplingly upset. There are times when I'd love to not think. To just stop thinking altogether. Do people ever do that voluntarily? I've always wondered this, because truly, my brain never quiets. It's one whirlwind after another. I don't know how long I'll be able to do this. Which is pathetic.
I'm just one bundle of contempt and fear. And who would want that?
Answer: Nobody.
Nobody normal, that is.
Is it horrible that I desperately long for a boyfriend? It is. It's a pathetic wish, as I am odd and boys don't appreciate/understand oddity.
I'm just so tired and like I mentioned before, the thoughts don't stop. Constant onslaught. Ridiculous, really. Really.
Someone needs to find the off switch for my brain. It'd be much appreciated.
So this horrible being is off to sleepytime. And I'll dream more idiotically perfect-beautiful dreams that will never come true. Or I'll dream disturbing ones that are still amusingly pleasant and pray they don't come true. I can several of these types of dreams, sadly.
Goodnight.
I love you.
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