Cabin in the woods doesn’t mean you’re an author.
I’m an asshole.
That I can wonder if people are thinking about me or even remotely considering the absence of my presence; I AM an asshole.
I am so stuck in my own mind and expectation that those around me appreciate the glorious shit out of me when I am not around them.
I am an asshole.
"I hold the keys to the prison that is my mind".
I’m a fucking moron. I put myself in this place that asks people to think of me. Who would think of me? What have I done to stop another person from thinking enough about themsleves and start thinking about me? Why do I hang? Why do I latch? Why do I expect?
I am a fucking moron.
I feed myself lies and refuse to believe them, all the while hanging onto them like prose or script. I leech and I scream and I cry over everything and where is the peace in that? I expect people to think of me all the time.
And it gets me nowhere and here I am in a pool of rubbish thoughts and bad habits expecting someone to save me.
How can I expect anyone to care even remotely about me if I don’t take care and consider myself. What am I doing in this meantime? How am I resolving myself and my character? I’m such a fucking moron.