I'm a mess

I don't regret a lot of things.
But what I regret, I always remember.

I broke numerous promises.
I falsely claimed; I have foolishly trusted.
I have pushed away; I have stayed when not needed.

Oh, well.
I'm a mess.

Mess

Keep on counting

1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9... 10. 
Again.
1... 2... 3... 4... 5...

My survival depends on those steady, repetitive digits. Without them, I fail to keep a calm face. Without them, I fail to be indifferent.
It's hard to describe the present, because whatever what was written before was the past.
There's a lot of mindlessness, small intervals of thoughtless fun, and silent streams of tears that don't matter.

Whenever a chance comes, I dive into whatever comfort I can find in the arms of carefree friends, who really aren't my friends, who don't know what I'm feeling, who don't know what I need, who don't know me.


So I keep on counting until it's an automatic jerk reaction to any type of confrontation.

I'm just past blaming everyone or everything.

I just want to burn, and I want to count while in flames.

Hold on me.

Father is home. Before he came, I ran around the house cleaning, pushing everything back into place, opening up cleaning products that have never been used.
I made the house sparkle, inside and out.

After I was done and was out of breath, I looked at my hard work, and had this deep urge to destroy everything.
I wanted to tear the plaster from the walls, break all the glass windows and burn the furniture.

Now that I look at it, the battle of rage and tears rushing through me was not one of mere anger at a paternal figure, but because I was just so goddamn pathetic.

I still wanted to please him.
I still wanted to have his acceptance.

It was a mistake to think that I was  rid of him.

He still has a hold on me.

Contradiction

"You shouldn't be doing this right now."

"You know you'll regret it later. Stop doing useless things and make better use of your time!"

"You know better than this. What is wrong with you?"

Voices of my conscience prick my brain apart.
I just have no motivation.
No desire.
I can claim nothing as my own, I can not let go of anything for nothing is mine.
I just blame everything and everyone and now, I have become indifferent to any emotion.

My greatest fear in life? Failure.

Yet... what am I doing? I can see myself in the foreseeable future wallowing away in the misery that I myself made.

Contradiction

Regret