I really am.
Well actually, I don’t know, I think I’m okay. I feel okay.
It’s hard to tell at this point because I feel like a grenade. Actually no, I feel more like one of those big, explosive ball type things with spikes that you find chilling out in the ocean just waiting for something to hit them hard enough that they explode. What are they called again? Naval mines, I think. Yes, that’s it. That’s how I feel. I feel that there’s a possibility (a very high one) that I may blow up if the right amount of force is applied…but then again, I also may never blow up. However, they have an inability to leave me alone. They can see that I’m dangerous and unstable, but they’re always poking me, prodding me, pushing me to the edge. They want me to detonate.
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