Психанула и вот мы здесь. The never-ending circle of self pity. Внутри тлеет надежда, что все это не зря, что каждый шаг имеет значение, что in the bigger picture it all makes sense.

Just may be not tonight.

Every other season I end up here, mumbling my troubles to the nothingness that is the internet. Feeling obligated to capture the torment I am going through at the moment hoping it will later on be the beacon of finding my way. Silly. Yet here we are.

Stuck with my songs, stuck with my relationships, stuck with my anxiety. I feel like even lying in the right direction isn't enough but I can't master up the strength to even sit.

Still feeling like every step I take is the wrong one and by the end of the day I end up even more bitter and broken than I started.

I need reassurance. The "you're gonna be alright". The "it will all make sense and you'll be a better person because of all of this". But I'm tired of fighting. Tired of making decisions. Tired of waiting for the strength to come and for people to notice me. Yet so scared of them noticing how small and boring I am.

Just watched The Double. It was so magnificent. Just the right amount of madness that captured the essence of Dostoevsky's work. Everything he didn't show in his piece was visualized through colors and music and acting. Perfection. Theatrical. Sort of sums up the way I kinda feel sometimes.

I hate the cold summer just as much as I hate the hot one. Time stops feeling real with all that swinging of the weather.

I feel like I should do more with my life. But I'm too scared to lift a finger so I just float in my sorrow and fear. Ridiculous.