The past two weeks have been what would seem to be surreal. It’s the same feeling that you get when you’ve stayed up for too long without sleep. You start talking in your mind with a British accent and you make up weird nicknames for yourself and you think you hear things when it’s just your imagination taking a few creative liberties.

Some sort of drunken drug trip that’s blurry and makes you delirious. Highs and lows. Bipolar Star Wars perhaps… the movies, not that shit series. Minimal self-control, not destructive but just enough to hang there threateningly so that it’s still present, lurking in the back of my mind. Bracing myself for some kind of end or beginning.

I hate sad fucking memories that crawl up between thoughts. They drive me wild.