What is wrong with me. I should be out but I sit here in silence in a room on the last floor. Tall ceiling with tall windows that let all the sun in. But it's dark now, it's well pass bed time and I'm horrified of giving myself to the sheets in the back. Uneasy is the word they would use. Uneasy is not how I feel. I feel like choking. I stuff my lungs with tar so I can deceitfully choke on cigarette smoke instead of my own breath. They give me comfort, they keep me sane. I stay awake so I can burn them away as I burn away. It makes sense to me. Why sleep. Everything else I've done that ever mattered was unhealthy for me. I never take care of myself anyways, by the end of it you will find out why.

There are boxes of random stuff around me. It smells like stale cardboard so much that the cigarette smoke is actually helping the atmosphere. It's amazing to me that I actually spent time buying all the shit that's in the boxes. I wish I never had to. The only thing I'm truly glad I brought with, so help me god, is the toilet paper. This is my 12th move in 9 years. It must speak a lot about a person, how many times they have moved. Interestingly, people that know me superficially will see a solid guy in good shape who knows what he wants and is willing to work for it. They will see me making my own way, slowly but surely. They will see dedication and resilience of a blue collar kid in a white collar world. Everybody likes the underdog that promises.

Not everybody. The more time passes the more flashbacks hit me. The kind of flashbacks that scream epilepsy. For the first time this physical distance is allowing traction for emotional distance. It's opening me up in ways I never thought are possible for somebody who was once a formidable character. They say high powered depression makes you numb. This is not numb. Shock-waves of brutal clarity hit me to the point of dizziness. Every single clue along the way I managed to ignore is now swelling up in me. This is not numb. This is Russian literature sized suffering neurotically layered in endless Matryoshka doll. Life is shit sometimes and you get over it? Well, it amazes me how much shit I was once able to take, for free. It's almost laughable, breathing in pure shit breathing out pure delusion. A walking blind man with a set of healthy brown eyes, pitied by everybody in the distance I am finding only years later. They say have no regrets you lived a honest life, you stayed true to yourself. Let this moment be a candid one, it is not a honest life when you are lied to. A fool will take dignity from being jilted to oblivion by lies.

By now you are asking yourself: „Is this about a relationship?”. Of course it is. If you are the kind that finds entertainment in jumping into conclusion. I won't and I can't disguise it, It's about lies. It's about what happens when you decide to take into consideration all the consequences. Yes, this might be another „boy meets girl” story. Another cry me a river light motif. We have seen all of it, to the point where the word „pathetic” has no weight and ought to be put to silence. But let me assure you there is no silence in every step I make.

And I walked tall, with happy feet. People liked me. Why wouldn't they? I brought nothing but belief. Everybody needs reassurance. It is what many think love is. If you have had met me then, you would of have met a man made out of confidence. The only thing I can say with confidence now is that it was all an illusion. The moment I was lied to, it was an end of me. All the belief I was made of resulted with ultimate distortion. All the dirty impurities I have so dully embraced have made me impure. And every moment of fake bliss, long gone, has changed me into a wondering shadow. Learn and get better. Time heals everything. But does anything ever heal a broken soul?