Too Late.

Running through my mind, trying to find an answer to a question I’m not sure I’ve even asked yet. How are you feeling? How am I feeling? I don’t really know, it’s not something I like to dwell on, especially when it comes to this situation. I guess you could say everything at the same time. Nothing at all half the time. Everything burns. Nothing really makes sense. I know I want to be here, but I feel like it’s probably a bad idea to continue the way we’re going. But I want too so bad.

Of course, there really isn’t much I can actually say. I can’t just tell you that. I can’t. well… I could. But the anxiety that builds up every time I think about the bullshit going on in my brain and how it would affect you if it were to seep into yours…. is too much for me to handle.

Whether or not I can talk to you about what I need too isn’t really the point though. There isn’t really anything to say that I wouldn’t regret anyway.

And… I did it. It went like I knew it would. Their claws dig too deep, and there’s only time left to fix this. Maybe you’ll realize one day how much control you should have over your own actions, maybe you’ll understand how free you could be. Maybe you won’t. Maybe. Hopefully.

Never too late, they say. I think…. That it’s probably too late.