I've been trying to talk to a friend of a friend, a message in a messenger I hit the send and regret immediately; I don't know how to speak, at the top of my game my social skills are weak and the top is a place I ain't been for ages, too caught up in fake-life and skipping pages in the book of experiences we should all share, I look for the picture but I know I'm not there. And why should they care.
I used to dream of a future where my life was dull, anything was better than lonely and awful, now I'm living my future and the only escape is through binding my eyes closed with videotape. The prospect of living is enough to kill, just existing at the minute is making me ill. Dropped into therapy then pulled back out, primal scream to war cry, to guttural shout. Still riddled with doubt.