I keep telling myself that not everything is so damn complicated, not everyone is going to hurt me.
“They don’t think the same way as you.”
“Just fucking grow up and trust.”
“Why the fuck can’t you just be normal?”
I try, I do try to convince myself that not everything has to be so… This. Complicated, hard, stressful, mind-numbingly stressful. But no, still I make it more than it has to be.
“He obviously knew I’d be asleep when he called me on Skype at 3am. He just wants to hurt you and make you feel guilty.”
“They’re ignoring you, just face it and move on. Even though they’ve tried to talk to you multiple times, circumstances just haven’t allowed it.”
I hate my brain, it’s too frantic. It thinks too much. It always finds some un-realistic hidden meaning in everything. Everything big is small and everything small is big. There are too many small things anyway, but that means there are many big things, but, then everything big is small, so it just goes back. Cyclic confusion. Fun.
I think it’s too late for me to be “normal”, to be sincerely happy like everyone else seems to be. I’m too messed up. I just hope that if they don’t hate me, they’ll find my paranoid ways cute, maybe even adorable.
Fuck; I’m going to end up falling in love with you amn’t I?