Joy, love, despair, hope, pain.
Anything but being slowly eaten away by this stress and self-inflicted exhaustion.
And as much as it is permeating me already, and as much as I hate it, I would even prefer frustration.
As long as it's a lot of it.
Basically I want to feel enough to cry, to cry my damn eyes out.
I am tired of wandering around, being tired.
I am starting to talk to myself again, I am dreaming about politics and the men of my dreams (completely literally) and I can hardly keep from screaming at my father.
Come on, shove me into overload, we all know I'm heading that way anyway.
