Fanning the fire is like nurturing a deadly virus. In the end, you get beaten by it.
Lately I’ve been battling with my own devil inside. It kills me, and not just me but even the closest people to me. I’ve been spoiled to winning, to getting what I want, to making my way out of every crazy loophole. And this is like a disease that had been cultivated inside me.
I find it hard to search my own cure. It’s all in my mind, in my controls, and yet I still find it too difficult to withdraw from what seemed to have already resisted in the pillars of my veins. This is frustrating. And it’s disturbing to think that I am fully aware of what I should be doing to end this, but I’m too stubborn to even care.
I feel sorry that I have to put myself into this. I feel sorry I am pissing my boyfriend off. I feel sorry I am too self-centered to notice what comes out of my mouth. I feel sorry I had to come to this level of impatience that I fail to even mind others’ feelings. I feel sorry for being a pre-Madonna ever since the world begun.
My moods have become recurrent. My temper has overtaken me. And letting them drive the wheels will not take me anywhere better. I know I have been mean. I have been a bad, bad girl. I know I’ve been infected. And this depression must take a rest somewhere before everything starts to break down.
It’s never enough that my eyes are open to this tract of barren land. Never, I know. And it will never be ever be safe to keep playing safe. I think it would be ideal that I for once go the extra mile for my own healing’s sake.
