i often wonder about the correlation between my love for music and the state of this thing we called friendship. i guess sometimes i suppose that the prominence of musical escapism in my daily routine must play some kind of significant role in the severity of my life-romanticizing tendencies. but music can be both a comfort and a destructor, a kind of love language and a kind of weapon. and a pattern emerges here, one i see reflected in the fundamental building blocks of my life; indulgence in goodness will always end violently. there's always two extremes i seem to face—an endless battle between letting thing heal me and letting them destroy. constant situational contradiction, that of which i do not know how to wield cautiously enough. and it is precisely this pattern that defines why most things i touch go to shit. because i can't handle moderation. i don't know my limits and i can't set boundaries. i let things fester and consume and blind and destroy, until i've boxed myself in so tightly to four walls of delusion that my subconscious has no choice but to lash out in retaliation. and eventually it breaks through so violently that it shatters beyond repair and i am left to ogle at a pile of shards on the floor. to hate myself for repetition, for not anticipating disaster. to sloppily abandon the mess i've made, and remind myself of the role i continue to play in my own undoing, and mournfully resign to the next inevitable massacre. and it is an endless cycle i have left myself tumbling about in. it is an exhausting, ruinous, redundant fucking cycle. it's destroying my life. and i don't know how to stop it.