Today people around me were talking a lot about blogging and I remembered why I created blogs. I created them to escape yet, slowly I've turned my other two basically into nothing more then quotes a fun pictures most find amazing to read. My intention was to make a world for myself. Away from not only my problems but an escape to help me deal with the pressure put upon me whenever my friends problems become to big and I'm asked to step in.
It has been 94 days since the last time I've let that person take me over. 94 days since I've given in. But it's been about 26 hours since the last time I almost gave in. And almost less then 5 hours since I've wanted to do it. I tried to seal myself into my writing which has suffered greatly since the hault to my addiction. I'm left with nothing more but graded essays and ideas which have all be done before. I feel as if I can mo longer condider myself a writer, or once I reach that hundreth day whether I can consider myself the same person.
I've been searching for answers but to what extent? Love is just an abstract that will ruin my day and pain but just a sense I use to take the fear away.
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