I've slipped into a somewhat sloth-like routine, sliding from one place to another, with my presence going unnoticed. Exhaustion building up in me, irregardless of how long I've slept, making me believe that I'm probably suffering from an incurable disease that will slowly eat at me till I become a useless vegetable. Oh how imaginative I can be.
My purpose for doing things is getting lost and tangled with the emotions that keep raging through me and distracting me from what is supposed to mater. I'm becoming one of those self-deprecating teenaged youths that wallow in self pity and have the littlest amount of self-esteem. It's depressing really. I keep waking up wondering if this is the day that I'll finally lose it. If I'll be sent to a loony bin, locked up in a cell, strapped tightly in one of those straightjackets, getting meals through that tiny hole in the door that has an uncanny resemblance to a dog door? I wonder if anyone would visit. It would be nice if people visited, because staring at four blank walls all day would probably cause the crazy in me to morph into monstrous proportions. I wonder if I would develop an imaginary friend. I've never actually had an imaginary friend. I wonder what I'd name it. I wonder what it'd look like.
Oh how my mind wanders into the realms of bizarre possibilities. I'm not crazy! Well, for now I'm not. I'm simply just a boy that over-thinks and over-analyzes every little nook and cranny of a situation. I might display symptoms of unprecedented characteristics, but really, I'm not crazy....
For now, that is.
