It seems like I only come here when I feel like the world has torn me a new one.

Or maybe that's the only reason I come here anymore. When things are hard to say to anyone in particular because they're busy or they don't understand or when I just simply can't channel things through my lips. Or, for example, when whisky is too expensive. That's part of the reason I let the readership die. Being vulnerable is being weak, and perhaps this is where you'll find me at my most vulnerable, eh?

I read that men need their caves to go to when they're troubled. The male species needs time to brood or fix things by himself before he can let anyone in. So this is my cave, my sanctuary where I can articulate my thoughts to no one in particular. Needless to say, now that I'm here, something(s) must be on my mind.

I find myself thinking about choices I made more often than not. Things that I've done that cause irreparable rifts or open wounds. If time is indeed the best sort of healer, then I'm kinda fucked. Finding resolution perhaps, is the only way to start the process.

By resolution, I don't mean forgetting about it. If you could just forget about things, then you wouldn't need to appeal to metaphysical forces. One day, when you least expect it, something will remind you of that time you made that one mistake. Bam. Worse than ever. You're doubly fucked. Sometimes, your old ghosts will even visit your dreams. You then look back at your choices, tell yourself you made them already, right or wrong, and try to believe it.

Once in a while, you take a look at yourself and realised that you're damaged to a point where even the solution is painful. Things might have to get worse before they get better, but you might not survive the "worse" part. A hole in your soul that needs to suck in a lot of love before it patches.

Feel emotionally drained now. Feel incapable of being irrational, being able to do things without weighing them on a little scale about the plusses and minuses and clicking my little mental abacus. Feel that I can't give anymore, only take from others.

Feel that I can't love anyone, not even myself. Feel that love doesn't exist. Feel that people can never be trusted. Feel that if no one's gonna give me a second chance, then I shouldn't extend it either.

Feel, paradoxically, that the things I want most now are the things that I can't do or can't have.

Feel miserable about the whole thing. Been feeling miserable for months.

Well, at least I can still feel. And now I feel I've written too much.