I've been woolgathering. Thinking about old friends, friends who may or may not exist, family that shouldn't. I spent three months in a psychiatric institution to find out when I got out that it had only been about a month. Time itself has started to lose any meaning, and that's more frightening than it should be. I've survived thus far, but I don't know how much I have left. I never do. I grow weary of running constantly. So very, very weary.
I'm going to try to talk about my family, my friends, but that'll be some time away. I need to take a little bit and try to recover. Going to find a place to hole up again for a week or so.
Wish me luck.