shit.
i've just broked a vital promise i made a few months ago. i don't think i can trust myself again. do i feel bad? not really, actually it was relieving to break it and enjoy what can be counted as 'the ultimate path to the unforgivable sin".
i hate myself.
i hate myself so much i wish i can hang my neck right this second and don't have to worry about what might happen next—that is, in the near future. i wish i can ignore the fact that i am such a chicken that even to do that i don't have the gut. i mean, you don't want to be caught dead—literally—with a rope around your neck, wide eyes open, your tounge sticking out your lips and green vomit all over the floor, do you? na-ah, the latter won't do.
why did i do that? does it worth the thrill? or was it the thrill that i seek? am i addicted to it? is it really the thrill that had made me do it? or perhaps, i merely miss the warmth? so i don't have to be in denial all the time? is it healthy? am i comfortable with it? and really, at the end, will everything worth the effort? worth all the fuss? all the lies? all the BIG lies? all the BIG, FAT, GREEK, fight-happening, tear-inducing lies? will it not ruin my whole life? maybe it isn't a dead-or-alive situation, but if things get serious, we're heading to that for sure.
what am i, an S&M fetishist?
but good lord, they were all very sweet, and the moment brought back glimpses of reminiscence of the past three years. the past years when i have turned myself into what i am now—with a label ignorant people would only take an eye.
it's a horror to think of what comes after this. the glimpses aren't all happy and smile-provoking. some, wipe that, a lot, are actually disaster-provoking. one wrong move and the next thing i know i'm in the middle of a holocaust. the horror!! my goodness.
"hey, how's life been treating you?"
"oh, not so much. you know, the same old thing, being kicked up in the ass hard a couple of times. it was kinda exciting. how about you?"
help me, i'm fucked up.