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I'm not entirely sure of what's come over me.

It could be a haunting past.

I feel like throwing up, but I'm going to pretend that's because I'm sick and not because I am breaking. Let's pretend my physical self wasn't perfectly fine in the morning. Yes, yes, let's pretend I'm sick.

Let's pretend that my palms ache because... hm...

Who am I even kidding?

The date is the third of January, 2017. On the first day of this year, I thought 2017 was going to treat me kindly. After all, it would be hard to beat 2016 in terms of psychological hardships.

But my heart has been feeling heavy since either yesterday or the day before. 2017 suddenly presents itself before me as another year of questionable survival.

I could really use a hug right now.

Please.

The lights are off. The window was frozen open, but I broke the ice to open it more. This box of tissues is almost full. I just replaced it a few days ago during my last breakdown of 2016.

But really, years don't matter. Time doesn't really matter.

20 months means nothing. Anything can break.

Dear readers, how does one renew a sense of hope? And why is it that I am so sensitive to things I find familiar?

I had a dream last night. Well, two dreams, really, but I don't recall the second one anymore. I'm sure it wasn't much different than the first. They were not nightmares, but both of them were bad dreams.

In the first dream (the only one I can remember at the moment), I was talking to a person named Nathan Moton. Really, I was talking to Nathan Appave, who I have always associated with No'C. It's interesting to note that his name had changed to Nathan Moton, who is a person I link to Root Beer. Anyhow, I had intended to send a message to myself on facebook (as I often do to remind myself of things), but had instead sent the message to Nathan.

"How have you been?" he asked.

I told him that I was doing fine physically, but that my mental state hasn't improved.

Waking up from that was rather sad for me. To think that a part of me still believes I haven't healed is... disheartening.