I am losing touch with parts of me.
The empathizing part.
The soul and consciousness.
Its not just about you anymore, and hasn't been for a while.
Has it been about me?

I realized the world is not about me and my angst. I don't have a monopoly for misery. I stop feeling sorry for myself. In fact, my life has been blissful when i am willing to admit it. I have no reason to be angry with the world, with you, with myself. There is not need to be angry to make more of my life than it is. There is no need to write about you and misery to fill up the spaces. There is no need to dwell and lament and rant and rave.

Yet, taken all that away, i'm left such a boring and dead person.
A would-be person held together by scars, stepped away and geez, where did the person go?

Me. Its not about me being sane, insane, mad, calm, miserable, happy.
Without such feelings, what would i be? What can i write about?
Daily barrage of drivels.
Sometimes i can't even be bother.

Truly.
Perhaps i have reach the stage of indifference that i fear the most.

Fear. That's something.