So this is how it feels like to be consumed by blind panic and paranoia that you could be dying anytime now of: 1) aneurism, 2) heart attack, or 3) a combination of both. I blame you, yes, YOU, that I have probably been just secretly a hypochondriac--however that is spelled--all along, and YOU might just have spawned it. I apologize if I sound like am just about blaming you if I lie dead anytime soon, but, really, I'm not spewing guilt to get back at you. Only a little remorseful that I CANNOT think happy thoughts while I am in the middle of hyperventilating. Thanks to you, and your decision to stab me straight to where I would bleed the most, I am more pessimistic than ever. So 6 months later I am still stuck here. Yeah, so what? Big deal. And you know what? You can only pretend so much that you CARE. Geez. All these thoughts over a bad crick in the neck and insomnia. And to sum it up: YOU make me sick. Yes, even after six months. So excuse me while I try my best now to think happy thoughts.
This was supposed to be sent to someone else (I allow you to make your guess) but decided against it in the last minute (because, seriously, that is just what losers might say). I am not sure if it made any sense, and I tried my best to fill in the right punctuations. It is just prolly the insecurity of having neither the inspiration nor the drive to move on. I am sorry if it caused any confusion. I just had to let the ranting out of my chest.
