Much like the stereotypical writer, I delve into a roller coaster of emotions, traumatized by the most inauspicious details of my every day life. And my impotence in warding off my own demons have been at strongest of late, pronouncing me as dimwitted as ever. But then again it is feelings that make me more humane, and bring me closer to how I was when with him. I have lost track of how long I have traveled from the typical innocent and angsty teenager. Change is good, I keep telling myself. I have mastered the art of deception, so thoroughly that I come closer to convincing myself everytime I say it. It seems like I need more practice.