Mental Mess

Today i've just realised that the mess I've made of my room--not picking up my clothes once i take them off; not making my bed; leaving empty plates and glasses on my bedside table for days, is really just my subconscious way of making my mental mess physical.

I've been dealing with stress and uncertainty for months--not to say it's to a huge level, my life is pretty alright, but to the level where it's got me going crazy.

When will i ever see my friends again?
Going to sydney might sound good right now, but is it?
What if all the decisions I'm making right now are wrong and I end up deeply regretting them?
What if i won't though?

I mean, who am I to trust right now?

The girl who can't even pick up after herself (and won't allow others to because she wants to do it herself to prove herself that she can)?

Anyways, this was supposed to go into my think book, it's not a diary, because i don't care who reads it.
I don't write personal stuff, i don't write facts.

I just write feelings.

And that is what this is too.