Breaking.

I'm not even able to go insane correctly. I can't fall into a proper depression, one that ends with a mental institution. I lack the dare. I stare at the tiny, pearly beads of iridescent green Irish Spring body wash on my squeegie. I've locked myself in the bathroom because taking a bath constitutes a normal activity and my bf will let me be alone for a while. So I stare at the squeegie, with the green Irish spring iridescent beads, on black, and I want to stare at it for a very long time. But instead I rub the beads into the black squeegie and I start to wash my arm. As I'm washing it, I'm loathing myself because I can't even break down properly, and here I am washing my arm, like a normal person, when in fact I know I"m falling apart.

If only I could fall apart properly, then I wouldn't be such a fucking mess. But instead, I fall apart repressed, which is probably more fucked up than anything.

But I have to go. I hear him on the stairs.

Quick Question:

What's worse? Having a boyfriend that refuses to understand what you are going through, and forces you out into the daylight, and forces you to visit your family and friends, which actually makes you feel better for a small time..

or

Having a boyfriend that understands, and lets you lie in bed for a week, or weeks, or a month, doing nothing, watching movie after movie, staring at tiny beads on your squeegie?


I can't decide if he's helping or hurting me. Now it's time to go outside.