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This morning, at an ungodly hour like this, going through some old things I came to a few realisations.
Things I haven't let go and maybe won't ever let go. Maybe I like doing this to myself. Like a sick dance in the discard pile behind a glass factory. Shimmering glittering shards and all chances of slipping and falling and getting cut.
Because love? It doesn't.fucking.leave.upon will. It's still there. Eating you up from inside, tearing you apart and yet keeping you together until you're so lost in your own thoughts that you no longer realise where it all starts and where it's supposed to end. Love has no goddamn boundaries.
It doesn't die when you want it to die.
I'm quite disappointed in myself because I won't be posting this in my new journal; there is no place for the shards of my old self there. It needs to be left here. Here, where it all began and where it's supposed to end.
The name stays and the feelings stay and all I can do is learn to live with them.
I've been lying to myself, saying that it's easy. When it's not. I want to kill something. Not myself. I'm well over that phase because it didn't land me anywhere. I don't have the right to take away my life because it wasn't me giving it.
A chance to live came and it was seized and used and I started existing. As simple as that. Even before I came into this world, I was given two chances at life - one when I was perceived and the other when mom chose to give birth.
I can die anytime I want, but, once done, it can't be reversed. Why waste two chances? And why waste all those little reminders of how easy death can come that I've had all through my life? Facing death more than once, sometimes being able to sense it's presence and knowing that this time, it hasn't come for me.
And I'm not afraid anymore. When it comes, it comes. And I'll greet it with a smile. But not right now. Not yet, not anytime soon. It will wait. And I will wait, too.
I know why I've lost all inspiration to write and why writing is no longer a pleasure for me. Why I'm rarely satisfied with things I write and why I constantly think, 'Girl, you can do SO MUCH BETTER with this.'
It's because I let all my emotions loose for a good while. And it drained me completely. Usually, I put all of my emotion into my writing and had a lot to spare after every written piece. Elation, light-headedness, inexplicable uplifting joy... That used to be my state after a completed work of fiction and it could last for hours, days even. Now? An hour at most and then I'm left feeling empty.
If a mere attempt at a relationship kills you so much emotionally... something must be way off the track. And if trying to fix it makes you feel like you're being ripped apart, isn't running the only logical way of self-defense and self-preservation? If that's the only way to stop feeling like you're falling apart... so take it. Or stay and keep dying inside until you start hating the person you once loved.
When you fall, make sure you fall alone.
When you crash, make sure you're the only one around.
When you start picking up the pieces, make sure there is no one there to remind you of the things that could have been.
If only... Fucking if only.
I think too much. Analyze myself too much. I need to stop. Need to let go and let it drift away. I have a few places in mind where I need to go to forget, but can't afford to go there right now.
And no, I'm not okay. Not right now when it's early morning and I can't sleep.
I am, however, okay in the day. In the company of other people, at work, anywhere where communication is required. Makes up for the nights.
Been watching people lately. Sharing some of my problems lately. Might have surprised some when they realised that I do exist and that I, too, have problems as any other human and my ways, although not the best, of dealing with them.
It's the way when things are slowly improving even though everything seems to be falling apart and crumbling for no reason at all. Let a few people closer to me. Spoke my mind a bit more and without over-thinking the subject. Showed people that I care. Made a first attempt at removing the mask I've been wearing all the time. (Coincidentally, it's the same mask my mother wears.) The thing I gained? Confirmation that I do, in fact, have a deep dislike for anything french and have serious issues with being physically touched by a certain type of people.
I should be off writing a book; one of those crazy storylines in my head and my dreams. (Been dreaming some lately; all old dreams from the past coming back and slightly morphing. Means I've had some very little progress in certain areas connected with issues and solving them and whatnot. Most of them - family related. Shouldn't have let it flow as it pleased.)
Slowly, my life has started looking up, but emotionally... I'm lagging far behind. I have this black chasm visualised in my conscious; I've drifted too far away. Lost my true identity. Made many appropriate appearances for different aspects of my life, split myself apart and only now I realise how hard it will be to bring it all together and get to fixing at least some part of it.
God, I think too much.
Analyze too much.
But I need to get it all out of me so that it doesn't clot my mind and distract me from actually living.
Should go to sleep. Because it's Sunday, I have the luxury of sleeping in for as long as I fucking want. Bliss. Despite knowing that I'll most likely wake up feeling dead and empty. Haven't really given myself the chance to have a good morning. The bad thoughts always get the upperhand and kick in first. Need to fix that.
...
So many things need fixing. Sometimes I'm afraid that it won't be enough with just me to do this. Too proud to accept help. That's the cause of so many of my problems. Though not the only one.
And still I refuse and decline and pretend to be okay. I keep lying because I know that people around me don't want to know about my problems since that would remind them of their own problems.
And if I see that you're happy and you ask me whether I'm okay, I'll say yes even if that's a lie just to keep that smile on your face a little longer.
You gain some that way, you lose some that way.
And who can tell which was the right choice to make when you had zero time to consider your options?
Things I haven't let go and maybe won't ever let go. Maybe I like doing this to myself. Like a sick dance in the discard pile behind a glass factory. Shimmering glittering shards and all chances of slipping and falling and getting cut.
Because love? It doesn't.fucking.leave.upon will. It's still there. Eating you up from inside, tearing you apart and yet keeping you together until you're so lost in your own thoughts that you no longer realise where it all starts and where it's supposed to end. Love has no goddamn boundaries.
It doesn't die when you want it to die.
I'm quite disappointed in myself because I won't be posting this in my new journal; there is no place for the shards of my old self there. It needs to be left here. Here, where it all began and where it's supposed to end.
The name stays and the feelings stay and all I can do is learn to live with them.
I've been lying to myself, saying that it's easy. When it's not. I want to kill something. Not myself. I'm well over that phase because it didn't land me anywhere. I don't have the right to take away my life because it wasn't me giving it.
A chance to live came and it was seized and used and I started existing. As simple as that. Even before I came into this world, I was given two chances at life - one when I was perceived and the other when mom chose to give birth.
I can die anytime I want, but, once done, it can't be reversed. Why waste two chances? And why waste all those little reminders of how easy death can come that I've had all through my life? Facing death more than once, sometimes being able to sense it's presence and knowing that this time, it hasn't come for me.
And I'm not afraid anymore. When it comes, it comes. And I'll greet it with a smile. But not right now. Not yet, not anytime soon. It will wait. And I will wait, too.
I know why I've lost all inspiration to write and why writing is no longer a pleasure for me. Why I'm rarely satisfied with things I write and why I constantly think, 'Girl, you can do SO MUCH BETTER with this.'
It's because I let all my emotions loose for a good while. And it drained me completely. Usually, I put all of my emotion into my writing and had a lot to spare after every written piece. Elation, light-headedness, inexplicable uplifting joy... That used to be my state after a completed work of fiction and it could last for hours, days even. Now? An hour at most and then I'm left feeling empty.
If a mere attempt at a relationship kills you so much emotionally... something must be way off the track. And if trying to fix it makes you feel like you're being ripped apart, isn't running the only logical way of self-defense and self-preservation? If that's the only way to stop feeling like you're falling apart... so take it. Or stay and keep dying inside until you start hating the person you once loved.
When you fall, make sure you fall alone.
When you crash, make sure you're the only one around.
When you start picking up the pieces, make sure there is no one there to remind you of the things that could have been.
If only... Fucking if only.
I think too much. Analyze myself too much. I need to stop. Need to let go and let it drift away. I have a few places in mind where I need to go to forget, but can't afford to go there right now.
And no, I'm not okay. Not right now when it's early morning and I can't sleep.
I am, however, okay in the day. In the company of other people, at work, anywhere where communication is required. Makes up for the nights.
Been watching people lately. Sharing some of my problems lately. Might have surprised some when they realised that I do exist and that I, too, have problems as any other human and my ways, although not the best, of dealing with them.
It's the way when things are slowly improving even though everything seems to be falling apart and crumbling for no reason at all. Let a few people closer to me. Spoke my mind a bit more and without over-thinking the subject. Showed people that I care. Made a first attempt at removing the mask I've been wearing all the time. (Coincidentally, it's the same mask my mother wears.) The thing I gained? Confirmation that I do, in fact, have a deep dislike for anything french and have serious issues with being physically touched by a certain type of people.
I should be off writing a book; one of those crazy storylines in my head and my dreams. (Been dreaming some lately; all old dreams from the past coming back and slightly morphing. Means I've had some very little progress in certain areas connected with issues and solving them and whatnot. Most of them - family related. Shouldn't have let it flow as it pleased.)
Slowly, my life has started looking up, but emotionally... I'm lagging far behind. I have this black chasm visualised in my conscious; I've drifted too far away. Lost my true identity. Made many appropriate appearances for different aspects of my life, split myself apart and only now I realise how hard it will be to bring it all together and get to fixing at least some part of it.
God, I think too much.
Analyze too much.
But I need to get it all out of me so that it doesn't clot my mind and distract me from actually living.
Should go to sleep. Because it's Sunday, I have the luxury of sleeping in for as long as I fucking want. Bliss. Despite knowing that I'll most likely wake up feeling dead and empty. Haven't really given myself the chance to have a good morning. The bad thoughts always get the upperhand and kick in first. Need to fix that.
...
So many things need fixing. Sometimes I'm afraid that it won't be enough with just me to do this. Too proud to accept help. That's the cause of so many of my problems. Though not the only one.
And still I refuse and decline and pretend to be okay. I keep lying because I know that people around me don't want to know about my problems since that would remind them of their own problems.
And if I see that you're happy and you ask me whether I'm okay, I'll say yes even if that's a lie just to keep that smile on your face a little longer.
You gain some that way, you lose some that way.
And who can tell which was the right choice to make when you had zero time to consider your options?
