I really wanted to write last night to somehow release this depression. But I know myself too well. I may end up writing something that I wish I didn’t. So I let the moment pass before I decided to write about this. I don’t want to go in to details anymore, though.
I need someone to talk to or so I thought. But I realized it’d be pointless. It’d just be a waste of time for the people who knows what I’m going through right now because they’ll just be hearing and saying the same thing. And it’s tiresome too, you know. Hearing the same thing from different people. I’m tired of being told of my stupidity or martyrdom or whatever this can be called. So I preferred to stare on this lifeless monitor that won’t even console me. Writing has always been one of my refuge at times like this. I just hope it hasn’t lost its magic yet. We’ll see.