i mean it's all just the same redundant bullshit, right? i haven't said anything new in months. repeating myself repeating myself. i hate you, i need you. i think i think i think. the thought gets me nowhere but further from sanity. i'm fixated on fixing. stuck in a field with no distant horizon. black sky, hollow ground, sinking into the earth. flashes, images, one after the other. i'm mortified. i'm jealous. i'm brimming with grief. nothing gets processed until i feel worthy enough to let it be. regret and stagnation, sucking away all hope to recover. how stupid i was to think i'd ever recover.