History repeats itself.
I don't fit.
I reached my tolerance threshold. I couldn't breathe.
It was a relief.
I feel like I should apologize, but I have nothing to apologize for. I'm afraid I might have hurt your feelings. I'm sorry if I did. It wasn't intentional.
It makes me sad, and there's only so much sadness I can handle. It makes me depressed about life. I don't like being depressed about life.
It's never been a judgment or a condemnation. It's a suffocation. And the sadness.
Always the sadness.
If I didn't care, I wouldn't feel sad.
And the shit hits the fan.
I'm good at saying I'm fine when I'm really not, but it seems impossible to explain. And it usually makes things worse. I regret it.
It's better this way.
I'm not fine. But I will be. It's just the same old shit. Someday, I'll get used to it.
But now I'm wallowing in it. Damn.
