Bam! Pow!

I'm always fighting in my dreams.

From the most whimsical of settings to the most realistic burglaries and murders, I'm always fighting someone along the way, some stranger I don't even know.

I wake up angry.

Sometimes my palms are bleeding from nail marks, from the force with which I'm clenching my fists together. Sometimes I wake up blindly striking at whatever's in front of me, most commonly the wall or the metal of my bed frame.

(Ow.)

I haven't written in a week. My grades have been steadily declining. I've lost all passion to do pretty much anything that has previously inspired me to appropriate action.

All because I found out I was right.

I'll try to sound as little emotive as possible with the following: I was right not to have hope. I was right not to trust him. I was right to follow my nose and automatically assume he was lying to me. This incident is nothing more than positive reinforcement for already screwed-up trust issues, and I find this utterly depressing. I'm descending into a character role which I don't want to assume and with this, I've temporarily lost sight of how reluctant I can be.

I enjoy writing fiction, doing homework, having an e-life, because it allows me to be in control of something. Whatever slice of escapist haven I had was completely separate from whatever bullshit was going on with the people my life, and I once took pride and solace in that notion. Lately, everything's been slowly melding into one another, tainting my reserve with drama and distrust and anti-lulz. Not even the internet is safe anymore.

I know what I'm doing wrong, I know I have to turn my act around, I know I have to get it all together again.

This was simply a minor setback.

(Note to self: Sorry about that.)