I'm so, so very tired.

The past two years of the fluctuating, of changing, of tears, of sorrow, of mania, of certifiable madness have drained me. Gods only know how awful I will feel in the years to come, if I feel drained right now. How can I live a lifetime like this?

My fingers are heavy on the keyboard, slamming down every word, like trying to made an imprint of myself on this laptop, so I may live forever somewhere, particularly since it is so likely for me to die.

I hate to admit that. I hate it. I'm not suicidal right now, but in these moments I realize I may be the cause of my own destruction. Correction, it is highly likely I will be. And I am so very tired of fearing everything, including myself.

Tired of all the eyes watching me, and all all the hours wasted crying, and...

I'm trying to find something to pride myself in, and the only thing I can be proud of is the fact I have not pined profusely over a boy in weeks. I have pined, that is true, its hard for one like myself not to fantasize and latch onto someone. But I have not felt the heavy weight in my chest of being so in love that it hurts.

All my poems have been about me. Kind of self-centered, huh? But I guess its an improvement, trying to find myself over trying to find myself in others. Over losing my mind over some person.

I'm still tired, though. I'm surprised I managed to write this much, for my hands feel too heavy to move much.

Maybe I'll curl up on the couch and pray the emptiness goes away and maybe life will stop allowing me to feel terrible things.

Just maybe.