I got the need to lie, and I end up making up a story to someone I appreciate

I got the need to lie, and I end up making up a story to someone I appreciate, I told him the story about Obsidian and me, but like if I was the victim. I hate myself for doing that, I continue lying even when I promised I wouldn’t do it anymore… it’s sick.

Miscellaneous reflections

Who says what craziness is? To believe you are not crazy is just crazy, and to believe you are capable of deciding who is crazy and who is not, is craziness itself.

To judge without knowledge, isn’t it the worst crime?

“The real cool thing about writing is that I can say whatever I want” – Grace manning

Why can’t I do whatever I want?

Why I am a prisoner of myself?

Why I am not happy?

The problem resides in the human nature of placing limits to absolutely everything; we are filled of yes’s and no’s, dos and don’ts, good and bad.

“There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it….”

I’m such a looser, now with no computer I have so much to say … but I’m just totally blocked

What kind of person am I? What kind of person will I become? 

“Have you ever found out yourself being a much horrible person than what you really are?” 

How do I get to magic? 

I can’t believe myself asking this question, I mean, I was supposed to be the magic one. 

Who am I anyway? Does anyone really know me? Why I am not happy? Why I am not magical? Why am I, not me? Where is my heart? Am I free? Am I in hell? You know what? 

Now it turns out all we learned at school during the years before is going to be actually useful?

 I just don’t want to think anymore. 

I wish I would never go back home. 

(9 days late)