What really sucks about being a woman is the fact that no matter how much control you might have most of the time, once a month a time will come when all the bad things in you, and especially in your head, will get all amplified by hundreds and brought out to the very surface. Because fluff you, hormones.
And my liver said ‘fluff no’ to pills, so I’m riding it out on calming teas, even if just for a placebo effect.
And music in my earphones too loud to hear anything else in my head.

The largest reason behind me constantly wishing I could re-live most of the past years of my life is that I was inadequate through most of it. 
Not that I’ve gotten much better, or even can get much better, when there are people around… 
But I just can’t get rid myself of illogical regret of things I can do nothing about – the realisation that I have wasted some pretty great years and opportunities because I was either out of my mind or too deep in my mind I couldn’t react and interact with the reality. That’s why every time I remember something, or, more likely, realise I don’t remember something, I realise I wasn’t actually there and kind of wish I had a chance to be.

That’s why I can never understand drug use. No matter how bad a place my mind at times is, there’s hardly anything worse then the state of altered consciousness when it feels like it’s not my mind at all, in the end of things.

I’m not a person with much attachment to the word of living myself.
And I know the sight and the smell of the abyss that can make you end your own life very suddenly,
without actually waiting for you to make such a decision. 
So I know, when it comes to it, the truth is there is no reasoning or rationale involved in the matter.
Sometimes it’s just a matter of a second that went wrong.

And yet it’s also like a hard slap to the face.
And stings like a bitch.
Seeing someone who you somehow thought to be so much stronger than you in this,
lose to the same thing they were helping (by their existence) you fight for more than half of your life.

A piece of soul was torn out. The world is shifting to find new balance. The view is changing.

I’ve been thinking about many things, even if I did not mean to be thinking.
About words that are so familiar, too familiar, they stir the terror of ‘do we really have no chance to fight this, if it took even him’ somewhere deep inside, which I try to promptly block off.
About families. Because the thought of those left behind paralyses me. And the understanding that even that might be not enough, makes me ask ‘is there anything that really is?’
About loneliness. Because we laugh when we ask for help, and those who listen laugh back, nod, and turn away. Because, the way we live now, even the closest people are distant, we all leave in our personal bubbles. And people recognise the cries for help only in retrospect, and fairy godmothers/fathers who’ll see what’s really going on in time hardly ever exist anywhere outside fiction. 
I’ve experienced it myself, even closest people promptly dismissing my signals for help to my face, and I saw that it was not because they did not care, but because they were too afraid to believe it’s true. Perhaps I acted in a similar way to someone else? We all want to believe the person next to us is okay, especially since then we wouldn’t need to stop something we are doing and invest ourselves in someone else.