These are horrid times

I hate the smell of bleach, nothing about it is good. It just reminds me of pain and sadness. I cleaned today since I didn't stay at his house. My room is cleaner and my bathroom is spotless. I wish life could be like that, where if there was a mess or any blemish from the past, you could just clean it away and it'd be gone forever. I'd be a lot happier if that were the case, because I just hide the imperfections of the past underneath my happiness. Once my happiness is wiped away, I'm left with the stains, the scars, the insecurities of then. I clean when I don't know what else to do as a means to preoccupy myself from doing anything stupid, when I'm past the point of knowing what I can or can't do.

Things that used to come naturally to me don't anymore. I've changed: maybe for the better, but definitely for the worst and I hate who I am now. Someone that's so scared of everything because she feels unbalanced. Someone that needs to be happy to avoid the pain. Someone so painfully dependent on someone else that she doesn't know what to do when alone anymore. Someone who's willing to subject herself to pain because she doesn't know any better. Someone who doesn't know what to believe when she's told two things.

I'd give anything to erase everything and go back to how and who I used to be. But there isn't enough bleach in the world to do that and nobody really cares anyway.

"There is no greater sorrow than to recall in misery the time when we were happy." (Dante)