I'm not even sure if I'm doing the right thing broadcasting it here, but hell, since when did I ever care if I'm dong the right thing or not... And I guess therein lies the problem - I DON'T FCKN CARE.
When the sane thing to do is to care about what people might say sometimes, or take into consideration a constricting value the spaniards labeled DELICADEZA, I don't... - And I guess therein lies the problem - I REALLY DON'T FCKN CARE!
And so I confess:
I am lost.
I have a void I'm always trying to get filled.
I'm sick in the head. I'm severely paranoid.
I am not as strong as I always pretend to be. I am weak. So fuckin' weak.
Sometimes the witty cheerfulness is just a put-on. The sweet smile, plastered.
The fashion, there to create fake confidence.
The sugarcoated poetry, a code for little redemption.
....and this list continues........................................
Sometimes I just want to let everything cease out. I just want to take a permanent halt --- but despite all the sins I have been committing I still follow God's Commandments, so trying to prove if, despite my numbness, I can still feel the sear as I bleed, is never an option. So I chose to bear the cross.
I guess this confession is a scream for help.
And this is the first time ever that I DON'T FCKN CARE losing my face just because I confessed this.
Thank you for the attention.