One's Character Defects

I've been always in a bad mood for most of the day. Everyday. It seems like my "bipolarness" is getting out of hand. That's why I decided to write again, try to get in touch of my sanity. The fucked up ideas I have in my mind fogs up and impedes my ability to dwell inside my head. I hate thinking. I hate what my conscience telling me what to do. I wish I could only think about other stuffs like coming up with a lame story or draw something. I was good at that you know. Was. Funny, now that I'm starting to fit in with others yet I'm crawling my way back to my old self. The needy self. As if on cue, everything rushes down into my senses when I'm in my room. Apparenty, this version isn't going anywhere easily, which is really self-defeating.

It's strange, how I see that things aren't the same as before. You think things are going well but you don't know for sure if it really is. You feel like it's eating you up that you don't have anybody to talk with about how your day was like . Simply, this chapter have different characters and roles to begin with. Neither I or them can do anything about it because there's a thin line between being hopeful and desperation. And I have always look at people like I might never see them again. But following my real thoughts can be like the dumbest idea ever. You'll never look at people whom proved themselves to be much less. Wait. I guess that's it. At times, This is exactly what I need. I will be defying Kohlberg's moral stages of maturity.