dammit.

I stood naked in front of the mirror for about six hours today. Tracing fingers over every scar, every crisp wound.

I don't think I look too much different.

Yet that does little to actually help figure out why I can't bring myself to slit throats like I used to.

And now the man with crooked arms keeps appearing in the corner of my room.

Father's basically disowned me. yay...

And everybody seems to be falling even further into madness all around me.

And to that effect, I've gone back to beating my head quietly against the wall because simply put, I'm losing control of my emotions and actually acquiring bullshit feelings towards people...

Well... I'm going to go back to carving operator symbols into every tree I pass.

Tallyho.