next round

on the battleground.
the certainty of a breakdown every month becomes my ridicule, I smirk contemptively but in the middle of the night I hold myself tight and the 100% Alpaca teddy bear and try to comfort a broken heart despite the part when you have to just get over it and grow up.
furious words to say or to write pop up in my head and I would love to scream but the morning hours make it all so impossible again and I try to be just not as miserable as I could be. Fuck that. I mean, hey, there is stuff to do. Alas, however, the said stuff is object to failure in this mindset, pms monsters creep up from behind and try to convince me that everything is a huge mess and I have lost everything and all in all I'd just love to die or at least, sleep for a long while. Waking up as a 12 year old on our old balcony with a good novel in my hands wouldn't hurt either.
yeai.