Fighting, fighting, fighting. Always for inspiration, always for hope. For belief that if I keep going, things are bound to turn around, for tables to turn. And they have, god have they. Constant circles of here then there then back around to here again.
Nothing is broad enough in my heart to speak on. Nothing is solid enough in reality to give weight to in my mind, though I do it anyway. My heart aches these days. For so much, never something simple. For the love I lost and somehow continue to lose. To gain and then lose. To stick and then rip away again. Duct tape on seran wrap, I am ruined. For my friends who’s hearts are broken, that I can not heal. Who’s minds are sick, that I can only relate. Advice means nothing when it comes to the wellness of ones mental state and emotional being. Advice means nothing when you’re doing what you want to do anyways.
I don’t want to stop writing- to stop creating- but depression tells me I’m not good enough. That nothing I ever do will be able to amount to what I’m actually feeling. To express what I actually see and how I see it. I don’t know if this is true but I’m doing my best not to believe it. I am not depressed but I feel depressed. This is an emotion, not a label. This is a sickness and a disease but I am not defined by something I carry. I simply carry and battle just as a man wearing suede in the rain, YOU are not ruined suede but you now carry it.
Fortunately and not, I don’t have time to hide in my hole as I so wish to do. The past few months of clarity have set the next few months up with adventure and experiences. I’m doing my best to absorb my heartbreak(not vice versa) in order to be present with myself and my companions, my friends and my Earth.
It’s sad how you’re always nicer at the end of things. How you can act like you don’t give a fuck but when you see it slipping away it’s all, Oh better step up-go this extra half inch to prove myself. I’m sure you care. Sure that your love is sincere in the mindset that you carry but you just don’t do this shit to people. It takes a level of maturity to be able to leave someone you love but you can’t half-way leave, that’s selfish bullshit. Leave or stay. Stand up or sit the fuck down because this emotional whiplash is killing me. You will be the death of this version of me. She is leaving me now and it’s a moment to be remembered. A moment to be cherished because I look at myself saying, Good she was too weak anyways.
It’s time to rebuild. Sometimes you break a bone so bad that the doctors have to re-break it completely in order for it to heal entirely. Maybe that’s what I like to do. Let someone half way break my heart but I see an extra mile left to run so I take it and I run as hard as I fucking can, as quick as I fucking can to create as much pain so there’s no more left to experience after I’m done. After you’re done. We’re done.
So yeah I’m finding myself and creating myself and always destroying myself. But only the past self do I destroy, never the present and never the future, she’s got too much to figure out.