Thirty Five

The next morning I woke up feeling like a douchebag. I probably should've seen this coming—but my instincts are telling me otherwise. Some wise words I would like to live by are 'go fuck yourself' and 'master your intuition.'

Somehow, for a very long time, or maybe even for a fraction of a second, I've sworn myself to secrecy about the things that carry all the guilt and anger and shame pent up inside of me. I feel like a part of me is torn up inside, shredded to pieces, and mixed everything into a blender. I should've resorted to things that make me satisfied, but of course everything has to be difficult.