I'm scared to be slipping again.
I don't really know what to do.
I wish I wasn't schizo. I wanna cry, and I can't, and I don't know if it's because of the meds or something else.
How could anyone ever love me ? I don't see anything to love.
I suppose, whether I'm slipping or not, that it's a bad night.
It's hard to remember what to do.
I miss my hometown, or rather, home village. The stars were so bright, you could see the hues of blues in the sky, you could see them scattered over that dark sheet enveloping everything, you could look at it for hours, get lost in its sublime.
Sublime means something both terrifying and beautiful in its grandeur.
The smell was so nice too.
For months before I moved out of my home village, at night, before I had to go to sleep and close the blinds, I'd just stay at my window, looking at the sky and the mountains, the cardboard-looking trees because of the dark, and I'd take deep breaths in of that smell.
The only way I can describe it is "fresh".
Fresh because of the cold, because of the water and humidity, because of the green grass and freezing-to-the-touch stones. Even the earth felt fresh, the dirt, everything.
It felt pure and like home.
I miss it so much.
I miss myself so much.
