I am not my fantasies, and I don’t want to. But
I do want to enjoy them. I love being myself and I do not change it for
anything... but I love being somebody else when it is dark, when nobody knows,
nobody sees, I love being somebody else, even if it is not politically correct,
even more, if it is not politically correct...
When i feel like crap, like I’m being torn
apart, like I don’t want to wake up every mornig, I keep telling myself I can
grow out of this. Like a plant. And I think of a vine, dead here and there, and
reborn a little later. And it doesn’t help, but I know I can do it anyway. And
I don’t feel like making such an effort, but I do it anyway. And I wake up
every morning. Dead or alive. U know.