I’m doing fine. I hugged an actor I like, and for some reason that stirred an emotion that I would classify as Foreign to me, happiness. I am a passing fan and I know he forgot all about me by now, and yet meeting him made me feel like I could accomplish anything I’ve ever wanted. It’s silly, I know. My cycle of self loathing is breaking and mending itself, and I’m stuck dealing with the shards and broken pieces that I pick up after myself, after my own destructive mind manages to break me. I am scared- no, terrified, of the future. I’m scared of becoming a failure and I’m scared of becoming something I’ll end up hating. I’m scared of a stable life and a nine to five job. I’m scared of leaving my dreams behind in a desk drawer and continuing to live as a copy of everyone else. Safe, in my comfort zone. Locking away my passions and dreams as phases of youth. I’m doing fine. I keep doubting every single decision I ever made. And I keep trying to cry out my fear and confusion to no avail. I keep drawing lines upon lines on a blank paper, somehow trying to see a meaning, or a sign, in between for me to keep going. To keep living. I’m doing fine. I’m doing fine. I’m doing fine. There’s a roof above my head and food on my table, there’s a bed for me to sleep on and I’m financially stable. So what is it? Why am I up at night feeling sorry for myself? Why am i complicating simple things? I wish my brain would stop working. I wish I could play silence as a song. Loud and deafening. I wish I could stop my own mind. I’m doing fine. My friend is miserable and I am of no help, everything I try to mend ends up breaking. I’ve never felt so helpless. I love her to death. I love her more than I could fathom. I’m doing fine, But My soul is decaying. I’m rotting away. I need help.