In my whole life, there's only been three traumatic moments which I snapped.
Yesterday was my fourth snap.
When I started this blog, I post almost everything. I was at high school, I was sixteen. My whole life has been a rainbow; a bitter sweet journey. Sixteen was four years ago.
Nowadays I live in grey and grays. Grey is a subdued color of black and white; sometimes I am as innocent as a baby, but most of the time, life is bitter.
It's sickening that the lack of joy given to me by this "family" is a solid reason of growing up. I don't want to grow up.
It's ironically sad that I stopped writing, because writing -which was my hobby when I was younger- has always brought me the same despair I felt every time I snapped. In this rate it's only about time for me to snap again. I'm so close to fuck it all right now.
We don't do sugar coating anymore. There ain't no concealer to hide my blemishes. I don't even know anymore.
It's sad, and most of the time I feel melancholic. I'm thinking to started writing again, even if I need to be constantly sad to do so. I think writing is my way out. This keyboard and this screen has been my silent listener all this time.
I'm thinking of making a new blog, or change this current one. I'm doubting my own emotions, why is it so easy for me to snap?
