I haven't been back here in a long time, and not really for good reason. My life has been a bit of a mess for a while now, anger and depression arising on nearly a daily basis, but for a while I was able to fight them off and act normal.
The constant encircling of friends and acquaintances lately has led to a recent bout of self-destruction on my account. It's funny though, some fight really hard to stay in there, and that makes me want to push them away even more. I'm sure one day I'll get around to picking up a book on psychology and discovering why that is, but for now, there's not really much point.
There's easily less than twenty people I consider really close, but I think (read: hope) now that I've had and solved the outburst, it may just resolve itself. Either way, I'm not too fussed; the people I do truly enjoy being around make up for the others without a doubt.
I'm really only doing this as a way of putting off my literature homework, which is significantly more difficult now that I've typed up all the things I've already done, as well as finding a way to pass the time until I apologise again for fucking up to a really good friend who I hurt through saying stupid things. Yet, for some reason, I'm so absolutely content, not worried about not having read the poems, not worried about having my apology rejected because I feel this time I really have gone too far, not about anything.
Maybe I'm too far gone. Maybe I just don't care anymore. Only time will tell.