Before It Begins Every morning, just as the mind activates itself for another day of thoughts, there is a moment. A moment between sleep and #life. Every day, this moment of blur pauses reality and asks the mind, 'Are you ready?' Time limits a response; the seconds chisel away at another day. But the thought remains, day after day. Moment after moment. The ability to face and even embrace this world of sputtering emotion. Are you ready?

Undiscovered "relapse" they declare. you shrug. the word means nothing to you. you've heard it so many times that you've forgotten the difference between relapse and that other state of being...what is it? wholeness? cured? oh yes, recovered. no one ever declares that one. "relapse" they say again, trying to get a response from a creature lost in another world. with a pitiful sigh, you try to act affected. you try to gasp along with them, to partake in their sympathy for your patheticness. but you can't, not really. for you know that you've been falling for quite some time. that you lie awake night after night, wondering if anybody will step in before you lose it and fall into a pit of emptiness and dead-ends. you're scared, but simultaneously, you crave the hole you know you can create. you crave it more than anything in this world. your fate is undiscovered, but you know how it's going to end, eventually. eventually the sand will seep inside, slowly burying you alive. by then you'll be half-dead anyway, welcoming each grain into your pit of self-destruction. one day it will be enough. until then, you take the pills and hope for fate to hurry the fuck up.

Fabulously Bore It's all empty. I don't know why this happened. I don't know what it means. I do know that I feel guilty. A writer must practice her craft. I also know leaving thoughts in my head only leads to the jumbling of reality. Maybe it's that I've finally realised I'm not going to be what I know I should have become: a writer. And the only reason I quit the dream is because I have the self-confidence of a cripple on the starting line of a marathon. I'm not going to succeed in my dream because I simply gave up on myself. I gave up on the thought of uncertainty. I cringed at the fact that I would have to expose my work to some entry-level publisher. I became a literary malingerer. I am a literary malingerer. And, oddly, I accept that title, because it keeps me contained from the big bad world of reality. So no, I'm not healthier. I simply died.

That is all I want in #life: for this pain to seem purposeful.' -Elizabeth Wurtzel

Will It Last? Just left Facebook and instagram. Sick of the bullshit mostly including engagement/marriage boasts and photos of babies. These are personal things people! No one wants to see your ultrasound pics! Sad that my generation has now ruined social interactions. We'll see if it lasts. I'm still on Twitter.