I feel unnecessarily bitter about being sacked off like that. Just like the promised call awaited by a silent phone, which I know will never come. Or the empty promise of “I’ll be better,” that ended in a cold shoulder, again. The moments of “What the fuck am I doing with my life” seem to come at more frequent intervals and the sound of the refridgerator echos in my head. The Battle of the fear of never amounting to anything against the fear of succeeding is exhausting and I’m left suspended in a vacuum void of all but my last breaths. The war waged inside my head mimicks a peaceful chaos, like the very moments before a bomb drops.

So where do I go from here. Tonight; to bed.