I love how I can love something that is so wrong for me. Or even love the idea of it. I'm not really there, I'm not being loved, so I can allow myself to be hurt in countless tiny moments of being alone, istead of maybe a bigger moment of rejection, or the facing of reality.

I have condemned myself to a life of slowly dying. Slowly killing myself.

And yet I find comfort in this. I am comforted if not comfortable with the familiar.


Also....

I'm not sure about the whys of things. And I find it extremely frustrating. I so believe that life isn't fair and I am totally ok with this. Not happy when it spites me in particular, but fine with the existence of its unfairness. I don't, however, like not understanding it. That's just mean.