"i'll ruin it"

as if it will exist if i don't write it. as if it is possible to ruin art. as if it is possible to ruin a story told from love and creativity.

like be so fucking fr rn, brain. just let me write the goddamn thing.

i have the doc open. i could finish writing the fic. i have the idea completely fleshed out.

but. now that i've done all of the work on the concept, made a list of major plot points i'd like to include, and wrote more than 2k words.

i am no longer capable of writing it because i'll ruin it. :)

if i could just pack up and leave that'd be different. but i'm trapped. i haven't had a paying job in 5 years because of my mental health. i was prevented from getting my license by my parents. and now i am stuck at my grandfathers 5 days a week, where i barely sleep or eat.

i'm so fucking tired.

yall should see the other guy. (again it was a tree. it won. i not only lost, but i lost against something that wasn't trying.)

and not even like... a cathartic breakdown where we manage to cry out all the feelings we bury on the daily.

but just enough of a breakdown that we spiral. and then we bounce to manic. and then to such an overwhelming melancholy.

we are so tired. and yet.

sleep will not come.