I've always been the kind of person to pretend everything's ok, I guess.
Unless you hound me about it.
Then I'll probly tell you everything.


But then. Usually. People run away, screaming like a little girl.
Trust me, men's vocal cords *can* go that high.


I mean, I obviously have issues, right? So why ask when you know it's going to be a handful.
Or mindful.
Either or.


People ask me why I act like I do, and I have a reason.
It may not be obvious.
It won't make sense either.
Most likely.


Buuut, there's a reason I do what I do, and if you don't like it, cool.
You now officially hate something someone does.
Bravo.


I'd have to say I'm pretty happy with how I live my life.
I don't need a lot of people.
And when I do.
I really need them.
They're my everything.


I'm broken, in every place possible.
That doesn't mean I don't have issues.
What it means is that, I'm a human.
And I have my problems.

K. That's it.