Dark yapping below! (Gif for little happiness)
Sometimes, I dissociate and berate my past self.
Take, for instance, a time when I mustered the courage to speak up, only for things to go wrong.
In those moments, I would condemn my own shamelessness and recklessness.
"Why did you do that when you should have known how it would turn out? You knew *you* were the one who would end up getting hurt. Why can't you get it through your head? You’re incapable of doing anything right. You can’t get along with anyone or hold a conversation. No one could ever love someone as clingy and codependent as you. You should just rot and die all alone."
...But I lack the courage. I am strangely terrified of dying. That moment when I cease to be *me*—the eternal nothingness that arrives the instant consciousness fades. I am simply too afraid to die. And so, I blame myself for my indecisiveness. It is a cycle that will continue endlessly, for as long as I remain alive.
