How can you live after doing horrible things? After hurting people deeply, in ways that might last forever? I can feel the hand of callousness and indifference slowly squeezing me in it's grip, where turning towards numbness and emptiness is safer and more reliable than trying to feel and look at myself with honesty. I am a coward. Every day feels like just another day waiting anxiously for some sort of bursting point or relief from this fever, this constant strain of self depreciation and degeneration. It's hard enough to get out of bed right now let alone enjoy life. Time spent awake is just spent waiting to be asleep again. To escape this, and escape the fear that I'll never really be okay and that this is permanent.

I am a bad man.