Just Gonna Stand There And Watch Me Burn, Well That's Alright Because I Like The Way The it Hurts

I’m sitting here, on a red, green, and blue plaid couch that I got a slip cover for. The thing is a piece of shit, so much so I can barely consider it a couch, but the cover disguises it pretty well. I did my hair, showered, shaved, washed my face, and now I’m sitting here with a ten week old puppy and a year old dog who are just starting to get along, trying not to let my mind wonder too far. Bad things happen when it wanders too far. I’m trying not to think about how much I’m gonna have to pay to get this carpet cleaned. Trying not to think about the mounds of laundry, homework, puppy training, cleaning, and errands I have to do. Trying not to think about how hard the next few months are going to be. Trying not to think about how much I hate this apartment right now. But these thoughts come flooding past my once mile high wall. You see I used to be able to function, to walk though these flames without flinching. But now? Now I’m getting burned more with each step I take. Sounds awful doesn’t it? There is a solution, a fix to this problem. Those flames I speak of only exist because my mind is broken. So broken that only medication can give me some semblance of normalcy. I used to be able to function with the brokenness. Live my life with the flames of my disease and ignore their existence to the point that their heat couldn’t touch me. But I lost that, whatever it was. I lost the ability to ignore. And no I’m stuck with a decision. Just let you stand there and watch me burn, or admit to being so far broken that even you can’t fix it. The scariest part is, I think I might like the pain.