I feel utterly defeated. I'm tired. I rattle from all the painkillers. I'm fed up. And the episode of Torchwood I just watched scared the shit out of me even though I'm nearly thirty-one years old and don't actually believe in fairies.
And I'm sitting here crying because I feel so defeated. Like a child. Sobbing into my hands.
I look like hell. I feel like hell. I wonder if I'll ever feel human again.
And despite my best intentions this reads like a suicide note.
Dear you, fuck me, I'm off to die or cry or something so lame it can't be mentioned in polite society. Fuck this life, no, really, fuck it.
I feel like I've been kicked in the gut. I only have a few painkillers left.
And I'm so fucking pathetic that I'm posting this on my blog.
2 comments:
I hope that doesn't make me pathetic for posting back.
I always get scared by well-made supernaturally type films and TV, so this Torchwood must have done a really great job, which means you have excellent choice in TV. You have such discerning taste and are really cool.
I feel occasionally pathetic and worse, and tend to use my blog as a trampoline to bounce back up out of it. There should be no shame in feeling pathetic. There should be shame in feeling perpetually pleasant. Bloody pleasants, let them eat cake.
They were very nasty fairies. The sort that would make you avoid the bottom of the garden. I am pretty easily spooked by even lame things. I claim that this is the product of a very good imagination.
I wonder if anyone is perpetually pleasant? If so, they should be kicked.
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