When I think about the future, all I see is either nothing but black empty space, or a downward spiral to infinity and oblivion. "What is wrong with me"? I ask myself. To be honest, I do not know.
My mood fluctuates more often than ever, and there is always something that sends me into a kind of silent rage. Perhaps it's because of envy and the tendency to wallow in self-pity, which angers me even more.
Drawing and painting was something I could never let go of... it's something that made me feel alive, made me feel free. I'm afraid that's starting to change, and I start to question myself if this is what I truly wanted to do. I can't even