I need to rest like Ibiza in winter. I've not been my best, eating breakfast for dinner. I stare at this desktop for work and for pleasure and measure my worth by what I pay for. I need you to fix me up because I'm scared I'm not enough. I'm sick of the cycle of ripping life out of myself then writing about it. We are more than material. This life ain't perfect, but we can work to make it worth it. I need to focus on diet and mindset and being well. I'm so out of practice at being well. I've been excusing these self-destructive moods as accidents that won't happen again. I was cornered at a party and told I look unhappy underneath. I don't know what she meant. At being well: I've been shouting in my sleep, then I've been writing down my dreams to try and make sense. But all I dream of are car crashes and burglaries, so I sleep with a bat beside my bed even though I know it's in my head because I need to rest like Ibiza in winter.
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