Things I cannot take back:

My father, many dear friends, a smell that lingers on both the tongue and the fingertips

The summer of Premonition.
I stay in my white cube from morning till night. It is beyond freezing in here. No matter how much I declutter or throw away, I remain overwhelmed by the existence of my belongings.

It’s a habit I picked up after TheAttemptWhichResultedinthePsychWardStay™
Everything was so White and Vast and Soulless in there. I’ve been trying to replicate that atmosphere since I was discharged. I didn’t enjoy being stuck in a psych ward by any means, nor did it at all help me, but I was fascinated by how mentally numbing it was.

I spent hours daily curled into a ball on the floor, staring at the very white, very blank wall opposite to me. It forced me into a state of half-dead-half-aliveness, in which my never-ending thoughts became so loud that I grew deaf to their shrieks.

For the first time in my life, I experienced a death-like mental blankness that not even sleep could provide. I felt near-nothing. I rarely blinked, yet my eyes remained reasonably hydrated. The air conditioning blasting onto my hospital gown left my body freezing, but my pseudo-lobotomy numbed any physical discomfort.

These hours did not make up my entire stay—there were of course the usual short, interrogative therapy sessions, as well as plenty of old pedophilic men preying on me. But my biggest takeaway has always been my time spent with the white walls.

So, I suppose I now enjoy being in blank spaces because they offer much less to think about. I am tired of being The Thinker, but I can’t stop unless through unhealthy means, even within my own white walls. I used to be a very expressive person in terms of my bedroom. There was stuff everywhere.

And I deeply regret having been that way, as Current Me must now rid herself of The Crap.

Everything needs to be neatly tucked away in my white cube

Hey, listen to this
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQWGCUnImWs&pp=ygUUc3RheSB0aGUgc2FtZSBib25vYm8%3D