There was a time.
The part of me that wishes to see the future is slowly, slowly, being rekindled. Like a dying ember on a dry coal that's been covered by a damp moss after rainy season. Dissociation is still strong, even after the whole disaster of me unsuccessfully killing myself again for the fourth time. So is my apathy. It's a chance-circle shooting game up in here, hour after hour. I find myself zoning out, unable to return to my head. I find myself unable to empathize with my friends, despite knowing I should if I want to keep them around. With dissociation, I can't find the controls in my head to flick on the empathy switch. I'm not in there. Nothing is. I'd find my body sitting upright on the bed, staring at a spot for hours. It heavily reminded me of highschool nights, minus the blank spots in my memories. I'm a little okay now, with my broken heart. I'm healing. It's still a bitch most days, and I know I've totally become that edgy emo sad bitch ...