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As the night continues spilling to the next day when the clock strikes midnight, I pen this with hopefully a little less inhibition now that a little liquid courage is one with my blood. Though it's just weak lager, my head is already beginning to pound and my heart beating so hard and fast I can see my shirt twitching with each beat, as if trying to expel some type of poison I unknowingly took.

I might have lifted this somewhere from a movie, or an original thought I conjured while wallowing in despair, I have told a few people that sadness is more so a default emotion for me, and it's far easier to be disappointed before it happens, than to build up so much hope only to be turned down. It's better to feel sad than not feeling anything, I said.

Sadness for awhile had been a feeling I thought to be the worst, a state of blue that couldn't see any silvers of light at the end of the tunnel, not knowing you're the n the tunnel. But no, I realised there is something worst than sadness, longing and desire for something you realise you have, but on the cusps of disappearing.

Overthinking and neuroticism have ruled my life, and it seems like when a seed of doubt plants itself in my head, I can no longer be me. I begin to consider the worst possibilities, which ignites me on a path of self-fulfilling prophecy, being totally awkward in conversations and feeling sorry for myself. I just hate this so much, and all the relationships lost thanks to this idiot brain.

Ew, it's so gross to be me.