reality?

well every minute eats a little bit more of my rationality. the sucking sadness gets bigger and stronger and i don't really know what's real. how disorienting. is this intuition or psychotic insecurity? it's difficult to be alone with my thoughts for so many hours at a time. i always cry when i think for too long. what does that mean? what does that say? do i really have so many somber things to reflect upon or am i fabricating everything in my own lonely mind for no good reason? most likely the latter, but it's too hard to disregard the possibility of truth in the former.