I like to think that I am getting better.
Like, at everything.
I like to think that I feel healthier and I eat better and I'm being more social and I'm learning new things and I'm letting go of the past and... I'm getting better.
But at the same time, I know I'm just gradually getting worse. A little bit more insane every day.
In all reality I'm just a little bit closer to losing it.
Maybe I spend half my time wishing I was still asleep rather than awake. Maybe I cry at random point in the day without even knowing why. Maybe I take long drives almost nightly because I can't bring myself to go home. Maybe I look at food and have to talk myself in to eating it. Maybe I feel more at home surrounded by thousand of screaming people than anywhere else. Maybe I fall asleep with a stuffed animal every night because I'm lonely.
Maybe.
Maybe I'm just gradually waiting for the day that I lose it.
Because that's something that finally sounds peaceful.
Blissfully unaware of anything. Beautifully lost. 
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