Cry, Despair, Anxious And Lonely

While desperately trying to avoid paying attention to life's fucked up matters, you know, the stuff that would usually call for you, making you scream, sweat, cry, despair, feel anxious and lonely etcetera, I just exceeded the (somewhat) magical 15,000 word line. It's a good sign since the goal for September last is 25,000 and thus this means I haven't just overcome more than half of it, meaning (!) a whole quarter of the finished draft... but also that I have only 10,000 words left to breach that limit, and I feel like I could go there in five seconds. My only regret is my lack of time. Work takes so much energy from me and when I come home I can't bare the idea of placing myself in front of the screen. So... instead, I place myself right here, when time is almost just half an hour to midnight, and type away, until my fingers are sore and my imagination almost bursting, unable to get it out right, to get it on paper. Right as for now, I'm up way too late and thus can't focus when I need to, once I get to work, which I loathe for now, but don't ask, I'll tell later, I'm sick of talking about it.
I'm so scared I'm losing me. Losing parts of me. Being robbed of what used to be little bex, little me, being robbed of what makes me my own person. I'm so engulfed right now in the lives that I have at hand, the kids that are in my care, that there's barely any room over for me.
But there might be some left for Lee...