Breathing.

I found that I go through blogging/journaling spurts. I have moments in life where I feel like I need to document everything in my life. And then I go through other periods where I’m not even bothered to make any mark of my existence.

I feel like I have bipolar moments. Where I’m manic for a couple of days or weeks and then I’m so tired and drained where even breathing seems like too much effort.

Some days I feel like lying in bed for the rest of eternity and never move ever again. Other days, I have urges to pack my belongings and jump into Thomas and run away. Just leave everything I know, everyone I know and break all ties of who I am. I wish I could just drive into non-existence.

Is it wrong that both scenarios end with me just being? No feeling. No progression. Just an absent mind with no power of thought, in an unresponsive vessel of skin.

I’m at the point where my thoughts don’t scare me anymore. Is that bad? Is it wrong that I think of how I could die? I cultivate the ideas of getting into a car crash, getting a deadly illness of some sort, or being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Anyway to just “be.”