6 coffees in Surabaya. in Emo the fuck out.

If I wake everyday feeling less and less of myself, I wonder what will become of me ten years from now.

I promised myself this year. But the year’s swept by and me with it somehow. I should be terrified, but there’s no space for that when overwhelmed with lassitude.

Somedays I feel I can rule the world. Most days though, I don’t feel at all. Some fleeting moments in between where I actually believe things will be great. Maybe.

I read an article about depression today. By the time I was done, I felt brittle to the bone. It’s a hard thing to realise that you are a living embodiment of a disease worse than cancer. Starts with a D and makes everything in life feel like it too. Especially yourself.

I know I need to do to something, one step at a time. Like telling myself to. But the steps end and loop right there, in my head. Do something. Do something. I’m trapped, content to let the hours slip by thinking mindless things, being a mindless soul.

I won’t be foolish and claim nul improvement. That would be ungrateful. This year, as opposed to so many years, I somehow find pleasure in doing things that were lost to me. Like singing in the shower, or being interested in anything at all. I owe this all to my love, a little miracle of a person that keeps my spark bright.

She really deserves better. I want so hard to be, for myself and for us. Life is good, life is actually great for the past 9 months. I’m surprised at how happy one can be, when still submerged by anxiety and fear.

Heaven is a place on earth with her. But Hell, is all in my head apparently.