Motherfucker

Still wondering how I got by the past few days without writing a single emotion down. Not sure if I didn't want to delve too deep or I just really couldn't be fucked. Every week it gets worse, with the last being the worst obviously. Every time I take a step its like taking a shovel and digging deeper. I can't begin to explain how fucked up this week was though, I've basically lost track of the days. I wish I wrote whilst going through what I did, but I don't think there exists enough adjectives to describe my predicament. May be exaggerating with that sentence but my condition was certainly no distortion by any means. You know that saying 'a frog in one's throat'? Yeah I woke up with a fuckin toad shoved down my throat, and I'd obviously rather be dying than have sandpaper grating the walls of my throat but guess what, I was dying WITH a sore throat. Ace for sure. But that's child's play, that was barely the start. I woke up feeling like I just fought a war. But I wouldn't wanna go about describing the intricacies of it, it's not worth it. Maybe that was why I didn't want to write in the first place, why would I ever in the right mind want to reexplore such a living hell. Especially not when the people I expected to be there flaked out on me, but oxymoronically, it was surprisingly not a surprise. But lets not even go there. Now that its all said and done, what's my purpose? I have to have one, don't I? Unfortunately I haven't got one, and maybe living in hell isn't so bad. They say hell can get comfy once you've settled in. I'm pretty settled, aren't I?