Believe me, I know about importance of life. How many cries echoed near the dead bodies of beloved ones? How many deals were made in desperation?

But somehow, against all my laws and rules of my family, sometimes I want to break myself, like toy soldier.

I thought that whining about how screwed up your life is – cowardliness and weakness, if you don’t have enough reasons to complain. If you’re alive, your family and friends is okay, then it’s fine. Even if there’s a little flaw somewhere in the basement.

I wish I could talk about anything about fear of being a burden. But I can’t. I always feel this way when I’m about to say something about bad mood, complicated world and that kind of shit. And this makes me want to break myself. Goddamn circle.