I write as a form of self therapy ... always trying to heal my soul.
Feeling ... so, so many times that I'm hurt and experience a terrible pain.
Knowing everything.
Feeling it so deeply.
Coming up with so many logical explanations ... but not really doing anything to save myself for real.
Yes ... I know it's all toxic.
I know that i've ruined myself since i am with her ... but i still allow as the nonsense to continue.
She's abusing of me.
She's daily provoking me ... till a point when i become a real devil ... torturing her ... like she never experienced before.
So ... we allow all to happen.
I am the abuser ... and she's the victim.
Then we change the roles.
It's all like a game.
A stupid game.
A non ending stupid game.
And ... i keep writing, illusory believing that i can re write the script of our story into my books.
I have this theory ... really believing into it that i must analyse and clearly define all with honesty ... so that into the end ... i could be able to redefine everything.
But ...
I guess all is ... too abstract.
Or a lie.
We say it's love.
We call our story ... a love story.
And still ... everything is a non-ending mental and emotional torture ... not being so clear who's the victim or the abuser ... but keep stupidly saying every single day ... "I love you!".
I guess ... it's confusing.
I am ... confused too.
So ... i write ... like i would speak in front of a wall.
Defining all those weird details so openly ... without being ashamed.
In fact ... defining ... my insanity.
Blaming Carla for everything ... but always using her tendency of abusing on my soul ... as a great excuse ... so that i can torture her.
I mean ... torture her with joy.