I litteraly feel like I make choices, just so my brain can tear me apart. Piece by piece. Until I'm disgusted with the choices I've made. These feelings don't last just a couple nights, they last months, years. Sending me swirling back into self pity. I stop eating, stop smiling, stop listening to music, stop laughing, and stop writing. Till I'm no longer me, just a shallow shell of who I use to be. I find no enjoyment, just distaste for my own life. I'm such a mistake, that all I can do is make more.