You talk about the world like it's someplace that you've been.

Tell me again, what do you do for yourself? Do you have the ability to create your own happiness? Lately, I've realized how much I fear being happy. Doing something for my own benefit. Saying everything that comes to mind without question. Why am I so afraid of negative repercussions when I suffer from them regardless of my actions? With that said, it certainly seems more reasonable to do as you please. It really should not take this much effort. I see those around me comfort themselves with aspirations, they develop a place inside themselves to care for themselves. I find myself waiting, distancing myself. I might as well give up a little comfort. There's nothing to lose. Do things. Reflect. Care a little less. Step back. Read this. Reread this. Believe this.

"No expections, no disappoints." That is what I base my life around. Don't build yourself up in fear of being knocked down. I'm so prepared for nothingness that my days are blended together. I say I want to change, but maybe, just maybe, I like this feeling.

People desperately want to change themselves but there will always be something deep beneath the surface that is unchangeable, despite all efforts. It's heavier than what you make visible, and deeper than you're willing to dig. It's like that innate sense that you've acquired that makes active reoccurences throughout your life.

Give a little. Give a lot. Give something. Just something truthful, something uncensored. It's nothing. It's like I'm striving to get past myself. Action without thought, it sounds too easy. It's like you're overanalyzing the obvious.

I almost feel like I'm addicted to sleeping because it's a way of mental escape into someplace unconcious. Sleeping 17 hours a day and you're still tired? Clearly you aren't suffering from lack of sleep. You're yawning. Even your body thinks that you want it, you're so convinced. You want more. More is always better, of everything, you tell yourself. I define myself through my addictions.

Here are the molecules of my breath, my thought, my lungs. On paper. Continue. It's a dare.

Remind me again of the opposite of moral backslide?