I felt like writing something. I felt I needed to. Now it's lost, lost in waves and waves of emotion. The words in my head, leading me here again, drowned in the stream of emotion with no purpose.
  I saw the difference. I saw one of the missing parts in a puzzle with a million pieces, but I still don't know where it fits. There's an empty space somewhere that needs to be filled with that piece, and I'm not the one to fill it, at least not alone. It's not only my puzzle.
  I saw the lines. I saw loose lines connection into what will never be a whole line. The loose bits are all tangled in each other and will never know their place. But sometimes lines find another line and connect.

  Anger didn't work. Not once. I turned inside. I built a wall. I put up defences. The onslaught almost got me. So I built more defences, and more, and more. Now when I don't need them I'm so used to the siege that I can't let go of the defences.
  Fear still lives. Fear has nailed itself in my head. But it's not just fear. It was never fear alone. Something more started growing long ago.
  Self-loathing. A big pile in the middle of my fortress. A pile of hate against all that I was, everything that had gone wrong. All was and still is somehow my own fault. All of the bad sides amplified a thousand. It's not even nailed to my mind. It's grown into my mind, it's a part of it, just like anything else. I don't know how to get rid of it. And maybe it's justified, to a degree. Maybe I'm right about some of it. It's just amplified in my head.
  The shileds. My pessimistic attitued, the cynicism, the crude ironic remarks thrown everywhere, the overall nasty parts. They keep me busy. They keep my mind from thinking to deep, keep my emotions in check.
  When I'm quiet and thinking, alone and thinking, observing everything from a dark angle, then it starts getting dangerous. Then my mind starts to abuse itself. Then it reminds me of all that I am. It's hard to believe someone else loves you when you hate yourself. And there you have it.
  You think you can make be believe? You think you can turn me around?
  Petty things like this don't matter, right? Of course they don't. Not to a normal person who's just about sane. But in my little world of self-loathing every little thing counts.
  It's like an evil circle. Two things that amplify each in a neverending circle, making each other worse. Self-loathing that makes little things count, and when little things happen and I ponder about them they amplify the self-loathing that makes the next thing count even more. And on and on it goes.
  It's hard to see that when you thought you've tried so hard and gotten somewhere, gotten better, something happens and shows you that you've not tried enough to make any progress that counts. And then the realization of that kicks you back even further...