Just when I pledged not to do it anymore, two more happened. Just one night apart, I engaged in that which I shouldn't have. That which I figure would ruin my sense of self eventually. I'm scared. The very few exceptions to my rule are slowly becoming the norm, the standard by which I will have to describe my take on relationships. And it's bad. That kind where one can justify all he wants but would inevitably have to realize the fruitlessness of his struggle: It is wrong, and no amount of explanations will make it right.
Unless I do that one act that could make it all alright. An act that would hurt someone. Someone I dearly love.
I dunno what to do.
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