My bank account was pretty full too so I took solace in writing. I had supplies for three months, maybe, that’s what I estimated. Keeping it alive for as long as possible, only to discard it when it wasn’t needed anymore.
Like a parasite feeding off the blood of its host. The fear of seclusion, the endless solitude, and the feeling of being forgotten were slowly nestling inside my soul. In the back of my brain, hiding away, watching and waiting. Those little hurtful things that dwelt in the dark corners of my mind. This little cabin I owned was the place where I could face the things I feared. Nothing helped, nothing made it feel better.Įach day brought with it more mental and physical decay.įollowing the natural course of things, sensing that it wasn’t getting any better, I just fucking quit on everything and everyone. Even more disgusting were the instances where some of them offered me advice.Įat healthier, exercise more, sleep for at least eight hours. Like I just escaped a mental institution. I felt nauseous when some of them looked at me like I was crazy. A radio frequency, buzzing, lost in space and time forever.
The same old topics, the same old faces, and the same old places. It was becoming dull, boring, mundane, and colorless. Lately, I’ve been running away from all human interaction.
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