There’s been an honest, but hurtful mistake made. It’s caused things to be thrown into chaos.
There was already so much chaos.
My chest is too tight, my anger simmering a little too close to the surface and it makes my skin feel too hot. Or maybe that’s just the inescapable nerve pain.
I’ve never been one of those types to get insanely excited about my birthday. This year, in particular, I am absolutely dreading it. I wish it didn’t exist almost as much as I wish I didn’t exist.
I don’t have anymore to offer you. It’s a short, vague, and hopeless post to juxtapose the long, heavy post from earlier. When everything is falling apart, why bother stringing words together? It isn’t as if they’ll be heard anyways.