A Dream of Pandora

Alone – <a href="http://&lt;!– wp:paragraph –> <p>I woke up from a dream today, a dream which showed me a vision from the heart and spoke to me of my eternal strife asking me to listen, think, and then do. </p> <!– /wp:paragraph –> <!– wp:paragraph –> <p>This dream consisted of a subject that I am comfortable speaking about but uncomfortable dwelling upon. It feels at times when broaching the subject as if I were to be given pandora's box with the last bit of evil trapped inside, the antithesis of hope. That opening the box somehow unravels more myself and my motivations that I'm scared of whats inside. It scares me because I used this demon trapped to push myself forward and what would happen if I were to cleanse myself of it like all of the other demons of my past. Would I lose that vital piece of trauma that pushed me forward? I don't know if I was created by this traumatic need or I should prevail all the stronger having faced it. So like Pandora, I will open the box and peer inside, hoping instead that what is left is better than when it was locked away.</p> <!– /wp:paragraph –> <!– wp:paragraph –> <p>In this dream, I was at a reunion of sorts. People who were there were all among the people I when to elementary and middle school with. A strange set of people from a strange time that at this point I have more than double amount of memory and experiences than I did when I knew them. </p> <!– /wp:paragraph –> <!– wp:paragraph –> <p>In this reunion nothing strange or dreamlike occurred, just people talking to each other, catching up about old times, and recounting new ones. But when I began to speak it was this feeling deep down that these people couldn't see me, they saw this sad and broken version of me from back then. Made to feel so small and insignificant. Made me feel like the person that the teachers and the students paid no mind to and created no lasting impressions of. The one that was seen to not be going anywhere in particular, living a banal and unimpressive life just fading into the background. </p> <!– /wp:paragraph –> <!– wp:paragraph –> <p>This is why its so crazy to me, it still made me feel like I was the same person as I was back then. All it took was a look, and a couple of comments which weren't even mean and it felt like I had gone through a time machine and that person they believed me to be was still there deep down inside of me. Through a look I had to relive all these feelings and inadequacies that I endured for many years.</p> <!– /wp:paragraph –> <!– wp:paragraph –> <p>In the face of the intolerable cruelty of my past, I realized that trepidations shake across time to create a resonance felt today. I have this feeling and fear that I'm going to disappear. That back then in these early and formative years were a reflection of my ultimate destiny of fading from view. To never be taken seriously or thought to hold value.</p> <!– /wp:paragraph –> <!– wp:paragraph –> <p>I know that these feelings may be in some ways irrational but its the dissection of these feelings which may allow me to understand more fully subsequent motivations. I feel as though I need to be good at everything but can never be the best at any one thing. I have this feeling that I can't leave anything behind and that by saying "No" an opportunity that may be forgoing the one last piece of the puzzle that would make me whole. It's this paranoia of not being enough for anyone that makes me fluctuate from feeling like I shouldn't try at all to throwing myself through hell for work. </p> <!– /wp:paragraph –> <!– wp:paragraph –> <p>It's this feeling of unease that I have constantly compared to everyone around me and by doing so that I always come up lacking. That as me I can't ever be enough. <br>It is as though around me sense this, this desire to be seen and appreciated. I'm sure in some way off-putting. Even when recognized don't feel that usual happiness of accomplishment but the inescapable and unsatiable hole in myself.</p> <!– /wp:paragraph –> <!– wp:paragraph –> <p>Can I ever really be truly happy bearing on my back this kind of curse. I am irrevocably broken that I have no hope to fill these gaps. I need another solution to fill hole inside of me because eats away at me and doesn't direct me where I need to go. Coming to terms with this though is harder said than done. </p> <!– /wp:paragraph –> <!– wp:paragraph –> <p>Perhaps with this dream, I can start on this journey of reformation, to become the person I hope to be without the fear of slipping back into the person I used to be. To run forward not because I am scared of what is behind me but because I am looking forward to something in front of me. It a journey that won't be resolved in one night but by opening the box we can then only know where this journey may lead.</p> Aenami

I woke up from a dream today, a dream which showed me a vision from the heart and spoke to me of my eternal strife asking me to listen, think, and then do.

This dream consisted of a subject that I am comfortable speaking about but uncomfortable dwelling upon. It feels at times when broaching the subject as if I were to be given pandora’s box with the last bit of evil trapped inside, the antithesis of hope. That opening the box somehow unravels more me and my motivations that I’m scared of whats inside. It scares me because I used this demon trapped to push myself forward and what would happen if I were to cleanse myself of it like all of the other demons of my past. Would I lose that vital piece of trauma that pushed me forward? I don’t know if I was created by this traumatic need or I should prevail all the stronger having faced it. So like Pandora, I will open the box and peer inside, hoping instead that what is left is better than when it was locked away.

In this dream, I was at a reunion of sorts. People who were there were all among the people I when to elementary and middle school with. A strange set of people from a strange time that at this point I have more than double amount of memory and experiences than I did when I knew them.

In this reunion nothing strange or dreamlike occurred, just people talking to each other, catching up about old times, and recounting new ones. But when I began to speak it was this feeling deep down that these people couldn’t see me, they saw this sad and broken version of me from back then. Made to feel so small and insignificant. Made me feel like the person that the teachers and the students paid no mind to and created no lasting impressions of. The one that was seen to not be going anywhere in particular, living a banal and unimpressive life just fading into the background.

This is why its so crazy to me, it still made me feel like I was the same person as I was back then. All it took was a look, and a couple of comments which weren’t even mean and it felt like I had gone through a time machine and that person they believed me to be was still there deep down inside of me. Through a look I had to relive all these feelings and inadequacies that I endured for many years.

In the face of the intolerable cruelty of my past, I realized that trepidations shake across time to create a resonance felt today. I have this feeling and fear that I’m going to disappear. That back then in these early and formative years were a reflection of my ultimate destiny of fading from view. To never be taken seriously or thought to hold value.

I know that these feelings may be in some ways irrational but its the dissection of these feelings which may allow me to understand more fully subsequent motivations. I feel as though I need to be good at everything but can never be the best at any one thing. I have this feeling that I can’t leave anything behind and that by saying “No” an opportunity that may be forgoing the one last piece of the puzzle that would make me whole. It’s this paranoia of not being enough for anyone that makes me fluctuate from feeling like I shouldn’t try at all to throwing myself through hell for work.

It’s this feeling of unease that I have constantly compared to everyone around me and by doing so that I always come up lacking. That as me I can’t ever be enough.
It is as though around me sense this, this desire to be seen and appreciated. I’m sure in some way off-putting. Even when recognized don’t feel that usual happiness of accomplishment but the inescapable and unsatiable hole in myself.

Can I ever really be truly happy bearing on my back this kind of curse. I am irrevocably broken that I have no hope to fill these gaps. I need another solution to fill this hole inside of me because eats away at me and doesn’t direct me where I need to go. Coming to terms with this though is harder said than done.

Perhaps with this dream, I can start on this journey of reformation, to become the person I hope to be without the fear of slipping back into the person I used to be. To run forward not because I am scared of what is behind me but because I am looking forward to something in front of me. It is a journey that won’t be resolved in one night but by opening the box we can then only know where this journey may lead.

Asura Instinct

You have to forgive me, for I’m using words and phrases for which I only have a tentative understanding of the complexity, history, and significance to describe, most likely poorly, my own experience. To be fully transparent, it’s because of this naive understanding that I can, in any way, describe my feelings sensibly. I’m to co-opting these words and phrases, not to describe these borrowed concepts in any negative light but to illuminate these emotions which I can’t readily discern otherwise.

Begin

You can’t hold a flame in your hands. – Auroradiation

It’s a fury in my chest, a fury that arises from the seething fire of the accumulated stress and pressure of my everyday life. A fury without direction, coursing through my body like boiling water, scorching my veins and arteries and wanting me to turn everything back to black. It strains my muscles, my mind, my flesh with an untempered ferocity that asks to destroy, to upend, to dismantle, and to reduce everything back down to its component parts. It’s a frustration with my circumstances that calls for me to rip and tear apart everything, but most of all destroy some foundation of myself.

These destructive impulses call so loudly for destruction, like being opposed to creation in its purest form. The desire or instinct to bring it all down to nothing – that in my mind have named the Asura instinct. This idea of being opposed to heaven, to creation, to everything that sentient existence convenes upon us. To raze towers and seas. To bring mountains low and us even lower.

This Asura Instinct on the surface appears to be this overwhelming negative impulse, because how could these feelings of wanton destruction bring about anything good? But it’s because of this desire to destroy that I understand the true need, the need for change and control. That my life in some ways is not working. That this pressure begins to build and build until the whole system feels like it’s going to come down. This directionless fire and fury in my veins serve then as the power to change, to dismantle systems and build them anew for myself and my future.

It reminds of the three principal gods of Hinduism and the cycle they foretell through their role and existence, the creator, the preserver, and the destroyer. All three serve an important purpose and each role is seen as essential for the process of life and reincarnation. Destruction and death are all part of this cycle because without destruction we have nothing to create, and without destruction, we have nothing to preserve. It is true then without destruction we cannot fully be.

It’s this fury in my veins that tells me that something has to change, that sadness and frustration are, too, the part of this journey. That all things must end no matter how much I fear the end and how much this fear paralyzes me. I’m scared of the destruction because of what will happen when I can no longer hold onto something in my arms so tightly. That I have to let go and say my goodbyes wholeheartedly. That it’s okay for it to disappate and no longer return. That it’s okay that the permanent state of a thing could be in both its ephemeralness and its finality.

It’s this Asura instinct, the fire within my veins that I know that I need to complete the cycle of change and growth. That the wave has to return to the shore. That projects and problems must see an end, and in their end, they may not be perfect but they may be perfect because they end.

It’s acknowledging this Asura Instinct, my need for destruction, that I know change needs to happen and that I must let it. I must let things end so they can begin anew. I must let go so I have the opportunity to hold. It’s through this destruction that I know that I can truly live at all. It’s through this destruction that I can finally be me.

The Art of Letting Go

余熱 – あをじ

It was because of a conversation that I had recently, a conversation about addressing a progressively troublesome tribulation that has made a reappearance, that made me realize it. That I’m having trouble letting go. That in my mind and heart I am still living in this space of trauma response. It was made more clear when the other person caught wind of this and asked a simple question “What is it that you want?”.

Resolution.

At the time I couldn’t put this concept into words. I attempted to throw together scenarios that I felt would uplift the mood and bandage the hurt that occurred. It wasn’t until reflecting later that I found it. Through everything going on, I still don’t feel resolved at the original transgression. I am living in a wounded state, letting the hurt begin to scare but never close. Always in remembrance to ensure that I remain ever vigilant for a potential hurt to come.

It makes me frustrated to know that this pain still circulates through me, to what benefit does it hold other than to make me fear each passing week and to remain on guard for the potential surge in negative feedback. This is no way to live.

I know that this part within me wants justice, or to feel a sense of fairness. That the transgression was, in some ways, acknowledged and accounted for. That the cosmic scales would be tipped in a noticeable way that I can feel that the pain and anguish is the cost for something more that I want. I want this knowing that the universe doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t give you something just because you may believe you are due. I turned this situation into a large lesson on life but these experiences are continually pieces of wisdom that I wished I could learn some other way.

This resolution has to come from within but I don’t where to even start. Where to begin to let go and leave the rest of these feelings behind. For now, I will settle for an acknowledgment within myself that something needs to change and that if I don’t desire to change it then I won’t be able to truly heal.

A Torent of Wind and Rain

Near and Far by まかろんK

A wailing torrent of wind and water crashes upon my shoulders. The path below becomes unsteady as water mixes with soil and stone. I feel my feet slipping, my body screaming out in pain as I am pushed down by the storm. I want to stay down, stay on my knees to bandage my hands and feet and rest but I know I can’t stop because if I stop I may never get back up again. Sitting under the rain as it hit my face I wonder why I do this at all if the trail guiding me up the mountain has become is so uneasy and treacherous.

This isn’t the first time this has happened, I am afraid to say that it won’t be the last. This instance though, I have been disabused of the notion that my relationships to this journey, at least for the moment, won’t always be in some sense attempting to placate a higher authority. An authority that, in many ways, does not seek to understand but dictate the journey which I am on. One more satiated by the milestones reached rather than the climb itself. I don’t fault them for that as their progress is invariably tied to these milestones, but I do question the method in which they have sought to pursue them. To weigh me down with stacks of rods and weights and tell me to achieve without giving me much guidance as to what it is that I am attempting to achieve or how I should get there. So then it becomes unsurprising that at some point I will fall short of these goals and ultimately disappoint.

Failure is built into this system as well as paranoia as I attempt to create stability from ambiguity. It makes me realize how much I’m afraid of the lash that has left these scars so saliently on my body. I wonder when they will heal but never give the time or the energy to do. I keep myself just keep far enough ahead so the punishment doesn’t ring against my skin or continue to scar up my heart.

I’ve become afraid. Afraid of words and their delivery as it opens myself up to this unanswerable criticism which is unsustainably lacking of any true solution to the problem it seeks to criticize. I have seen the darkness and the void, the chaos which lies beneath, and attempted to quell it using time and resources but I can only go so far before I am pulled back down the mountain on my hands and knees. I am not afraid of falling, and tripping on this journey but what gives me pause are the instances of being pushed.

It hurts me and I feel it. I don’t know how to describe it and try to deal with the absurdity of it through laughter and prose. In truth, though it hurts every time someone mentions how unfair this all it, the cards that I’ve drawn out of the deck of fate shouldn’t have even been there in the first place. The unavoidableness of this situation makes me want to just wish it all away but there are no easy solutions. Just mud, rocks, wind, and rain to move through as I climb. I know will be stronger by the end but I pray that I won’t lose too much to the pain before I can get there.

A Long Awaited Recovery

Here it is, a post I have have been hoping to write for some time but haven’t. It’s almost been a year since I last posted to my website, a year of memories and healing but a notable absence of putting thoughts to a page. I could say it’s because I needed a break, my thoughts were getting heavy and I needed to step away from them for a while but that was only true for a time, the truth is I’ve been afraid to return to writing. To sit down and stand trial on all the missing time and memory. To make sense of the moments between then and now without any tangible proof that I didn’t just disappear. I found every excuse I could think of to stave off this inevitable return knowing full well that I left myself on a cliffhanger of heavy emotions and thoughts. I knew I needed to come back but where I left off but felt so dark that I didn’t know where to begin.

So here I am, many months later. Here to report that I did survive, that I found a place to live and thrive beyond the pitfalls of heavy emotions, the global pademic, trials of work, school, and my life. It feels like an eternity from where I started this year to where I am now which is good because that time and space from my former self has allowed me to grow and change in ways I probably don’t realize.

So what happened then? How did I get from there to here?

I did what I do best, I worked at it.

I got help, a definite hard step in the process of attempting to better myself. I asked for others assistance, and got my friends to play along. I got cats, which have been thankful for most if not all days I’ve had them. I worked on my body and fitness, got outside more, invested inward and took the time I needed to recover. I’ve grown, changed my outlook and how I go about things. I’d like to think that I’ve matured but I think that I’ve found a different goal to who and where I want to be.
It was a slow and awkward process but eventually I started standing taller,and fighting back. Looking forward and planning ahead. Before I knew it I was in a different place from where I started and beginning to like what I saw. I don’t know what the cure is for negative emotion, suicidal ideation, depression, or sadness. I do know that if I invest in getting better that I always land in a higher place than when I started. The road is not ending on this journey of self improvement but I am happy to say the road is less rocky than before.

I know I can’t summarize all the feelings, emotions, trials, and errors in a few short words but what I can do is start writing like I had before and begin again. So this is what this post is about, my return to the fold, my return to writing, and my desire to talk again in a place that meant so much to me for so long. It’s a welcome back and a see you soon. I am writing because I finally broke the block and have found the sun again.

Move, Pain, Repeat

To Start Over Again – Shal.E

It’s actions which define our days but our habit’s which define our life. But what happens when our habits fall apart, and our actions become strained. What would we do to try and regain control?

I’ve been having trouble sleeping and trouble waking up. I lay in bed late at night, after all my tasks are done and my body feels strained, wondering if it will be few minutes or few hours before I finally see the sandman. I sleep for as long as I need to or can before I start the day again, knowing I am missing some parts of my preparation and others of my coping.

It’s because I want accomplish things that I feel my body turn against me. I have resorted to super charging which makes my muscles feel strained the next morning from how tense it becomes. I feel sore the next morning, not from exercise but from the toll on my body all this energy comes. Like a double edge sword, stealing power from tomorrow to use today, indefintiely until my body feels like it’s slowly falling apart from just moving.

The good thing is that all this energy my body in place so I can be a puppeteer to a marionette. Moving myself in a way that makes the show go on, that gets my work done, and makes me feel as if I am finally getting things done. They don’t tell you about the strain on the strings though. Creaking loudly throughout the day as they continually push against the burden of a resistant self.

I question whether life at the moment is a series of trade offs and balancing acts, and for a man who wants everything this becomes problematic. To I push my body through the ringer to get my body to follow my mind wants or do I let me body continue to delay workings of the mind and soul.

I come up on this dichotomy and my decision usually is to throw myself through the pain and anguish if it means that I can get what I want. What is one more step full of pain if it means I can get the life that I want. I just feel the strain right now, the pain in my muscles and bones, but it’s the price I am willing to pay for the moment, but who know what I giving up in the long run.

It worries me though, that I may be giving up too much. That these things shouldn’t need all this extra help and I should just be able to persist without all this extra help. What is happening and has happened to me and what might that missing ingredient be in all this. That would make me feel whole mind, body, and soul.

For now, there is no time to worry, I will just keep pushing through until one thing finally gives.

Tar And Feathered Words

The Wanderer by Dániel Taylor

I am always afraid that as I put words to a page that content of those words become meta. Words talking about words, language talking language, and yet I can’t divorce myself from these words. This language for me is as muck and tar, stretching and pulling me inexhaustibly to get stuck and dirtied. I fall back into them because of this apparent mismatch between me and them. Like an abusive relationship where I am betrayed over and over again by these things that I give my heart to only to fall back into their arms again.

It’s in a lot of ways the an inevitability as I am so scared of my own voice for it to ever learn to fly. So afraid of my words evaporating into entropy, crumbling into dust in those who they happen to reach. This why words become so focused, like a fetishism that my words are never allowed loftier dreams and goals as I just want them to work in the first place.

If only their were a tangibility to these abstract figures. To manipulate more fully with my hands aside from the language we have all agreed on. To put my mind down on paper, to transcribe these inner thoughts and feelings in a way that does justice to them.

The destruction of this fantasy is what spurs these regular meta commentaries about my inability to articulate in my everyday life. I keep telling myself to be more deliberate with my words, less is more and more is less but I spew them as a safety net as saying something always feels better than doing nothing. A fallacy I repeatedly find myself falling into, but trudging forward just the same.

I’ve already said too much so I shall leave it for now, but I am wise enough to know this is not the end but just another step on long journey.

Twisted Letters

Room – XilmO@夕末

I’m starting to think that only good writings which anyone may find of value are the words that mark my end. How poignant it would be, to write something so perfectly but knowing I would not be able to find the words to complete such a masterpiece. A cold balance between the practical, the apologetic, and the incomprehensible musings of an unfinished man. It is a poisonous twisting of letters and phrases that attempt to reconcile the irreconcilable and cast an act of selfishness as an act of self mercy. There are days where it becomes manageable that I don’t even think about these dangerously dark thoughts. Still, it feels as is if I am in eternally stumbling across ground with no debris with only needing but a spec of dust to send me falling through the earth.

It’s the fluctuations between okay days and terrible ones that makes me know the spindling hasn’t stopped. It brings me high to then send me low, making my morning filled with despair, afternoons feel manageable, and cause my nights to be sleepless. I carve moments away from everything, but they don’t last long enough as either the external or the internal constructs interrupt any semblance of meaningful peace.

My mind keeps going, running on fumes that have all been snuffed out. I consider what will happen when I find myself at the end of that rope, pulling hard to make sure there is nothing left for me or anyone else. An empty person, devoid of any merits other than existence. What then will I think of myself, will my true value be revealed if I hold onto nothing anymore. Will that value be low enough the pay for these costs of my sins and follies.

Part of me wants to get away from it all. All this clutter of my mind, or reduce it all to ash before my eyes, an outcry of the pain I feel inside. Maybe it would be better to lose everything. Start from nothing because it is less complicated than the life I am currently living. I know in some sick way I asked for this, asked for this type of life, and the trajectory that I am on, but I could have never anticipated the outcome. How can I have been so wrong for so long, and how do I rectify things. It’s effortful, these changes, these emotions, the things I hope to find and enact. Why is it that I always feel like I have to pour out so much to get anything in return, and even then, I do get something back. It’s never enough.

I’m in pain, and part of me prays that a hero would come and save me, but I have known for a long time that those types of things don’t happen. No hero will come to save me from myself and my twisted thoughts, and all there will be is silence over an indifferent universe. So that leaves me, but perhaps I am just too tired to stand up right now, but how can I heal I haven’t been much good at resting. For now, I will consider whether I want to or not, the words that may speak to many or few about what is worth saying at the end.

To Have and To Heal

Pain by catzz

How does one heal from circumstance? How does one find peace when chaos ravages the soul. When in those moments, we felt to should have been able to trust that trust is broken. Days have been hard and long, finding no sanctuary these thoughts that continue to pervade my mind like a virus. How do we heal from these ills that set the set fire to the soul and brings a spirit to the brink of darkness?

It feels both counter-intuitive but also apparent at the same time. To be removed from these tribulations, one has to let go of them. It reminds me of a quote attributed to Buddha:

Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.

Some of this pain and anguish that I feel is internally sourced. I am responsible some of the continued pain I feel after the initial moment of experience. A perception of reality that continues cloud my eyes may not be clear but fog or filter that obfuscates the truth.

To remove this clever guise from my eyes requires me to see with eyes on unclouded and release all that I am holding onto. To breathe out all this anger, frustration, fatigue, and pain and to let clean air finally reach my brain.

I need to forgive all these transgressions in my heart, for if I don’t, I will be haunted by them. If I don’t, I will carry these moments with me like a knife in my side, bleeding out slowly for everyone to see. To heal, I need to remove the blade and allow myself to move forward, not to forget but in an honest space to grow despite the challenges. To not allow for the flesh to fester but to scare and to heal. I will wear these things carved onto my body for the rest of my life, but the story I tell about these unnatural grooves upon my soul is for me to choose moving forward. Will these be the moments of pain that crippled me or the triumph I learned to persist?

Letting go through is easier said than done. I had not received the closure I wished for. Life is usually never that easy or clean. The human moment that longed for is but a distant daydream, one clung to for far too long. For now, I need to sit and pass the poison in my blood. To let go and heal. To forgive others of their trespasses, and most of all, forgive myself.

Below I added the poem of Invictius, it’s one of my favorites especially in hard times like these.

Out of the night that covers me,
      Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
      For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
      I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
      My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
      Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
      Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
      How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
      I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley

One Day Darker

Ajimita

The sun shining high in the sky through the blinds on my window frame with heat emanating from the clouded glass, magnifying itself as it enters my room. A long night passes with this light representing one more night done and one more morning received. Normally a representation of the simplicity of the day, taken for granted through normal processes of living but these nights and sometimes brutal mornings fluctuate between insomnia and certain kind of darkness. I don’t understand why these feelings come but it’s not the lack of understanding that hurts me, it’s the the intensity they arise this time and unwillingness for them to dissipate

These motivations I held on to so well in the proceeding months have all but left me with this feeling of aimlessness crowding out everything else. Perhaps it’s a need for me to step back and process these events that have captured both my world and the world at large. It feel so frustrating though that none of my usual devices seem to work, that my body and mind will not operate the way I would like. These darker moments showing up and not letting any of my reasonable thoughts speak, just pouring out of me like a wound not yet healed.

These nights are particularly painful as they entice the me in ways that I hate. The feeling that scares me is the imagination of my wrists strewn apart and the blood flowing through them. A feeling that parades upon my skin is so real I can feel warmth and wetness of blood tickling down my arms. These thoughts which ordinarily would be so abhorrent are tinged with certain sense of sweetness and provocation that makes even these normally distressing acts seem a possibility.

It’s about surviving now, these long nights and troubled mornings. To give myself enough time to recover from these feelings of helplessness and haplessness. Mounting difficulties persist and even through my running and moving I can’t seem to outpace these thoughts. It’s scares me as it saps from me of my strength. These thoughts pervade in a time when I can’t get lost in the world. These struggles persist with my mind entertaining the thoughts of the usefulness of my departure. I seek help and hope for salvation. My heart is silent, it has been for some time. What did I do to turn away from it. Where did it go when I needed it most. I don’t want to quit and regret, but I don’t know any other way out.

Life can be hard and words can be difficult. There is a degree of a need to be honest with one’s self and other people. I struggle with that every day as step closer the edge not wanting to people to pity or look down on me. I’ve already had those eyes trace me for far too long having to wrestle with these perceptions of undeservedness on my own behalf. What I need is time, time to correct myself in this space. I don’t know when everything began to fall or what the last piece to come and throw me into this place but I keep fighting. I hope to be alright in the end but to honest, I don’t know anymore.