Ever since the 12th, food has become an alien notion. But in some ways it's liberating - no cooking, grocery shopping, meal planning or cleaning. Just good ol fashion hunger. Losing all hope is freedom.
Few months after I got here, I got strangely infatuated with someone. Strangely because I felt I knew him my whole life. Nothing happened. Because the love from you was sufficient, you understand me, you know my past, my mother, my dog, and that's enough.
I would be lying if I said I never desire anyone when we were together, when I was in Tokyo I had a huge crush on someone at work, nothing happened and he had no clue.
This dark pit feels viscerally familiar, but I can't comprehend the scale of this depressive episode, in the world of actual sufferings happening, here I am, grieving over a person that I should have left years ago.
Decided no Safe Haven today, or calling psychology clinics, just retired to bed. My thighs are sore from climbing up the bell tower in St Andrew's. Hopefully I'll manage to return and just sit there for some quiet time.
Quite a few people have expressed envy on my international transfer. And as predicted, it's relentlessly painful to work with a megalomaniac retard. I just hope one day she doesn't push me off the window when her mood changes.
The sum of its parts is the lack of protection or care. I was constantly mocked, yelled at, beaten and bullied. I witnessed a rape attempt. There's no cure for scars but I still feel sad, for that little me. I was born into a hell, and have yet to leave.