Where do I begin? Is it the feelings that swirl around me that I try to avoid as if they are the knives I keep throwing up in the wall knowing I know where they would fall back.
There is a song that goes, "Feelings change but I never feel enough and time heals in waves but won't fill the holes you dug...". Yes, it hurts. I have not slept well in a long time, and I cannot foresee when I will be able to again. Things change, time moves, but the way I learned to move forward was to know how much of it hurt and spill my guts. Someone told me to write it out, the feelings, though it will be raw and unchained I know it will hurt. Get mad, get angry, or just do whatever you want to do with the way I am expressing myself at this point because right now, I am at a tipping point. I don't harbor any resentment or anger or what may ever it is people will think I do.
Writers, oh yes, we are the broken soul. The one that cries out for attention when no one is listening or the complete opposite because at the same time, I learn we feel in the extreme of degrees. It is depressing, yes, it is. There is no better way to say this but when you want to find a feeling of relief or comfort, forget it. I don't want to hear medication or therapeutic sessions on the couch. I learned the support of a bed to be more relieving than the opposite end of an armchair telling me "How do you feel today?"
I suffer from bouts of depression, I had battled it out for years, only to have succeeded against it a few months ago just to fall off the wagon again. I have severe mood swings, yes I will admit it, I have a narcissistic complex. To keep them in check is something worth juggling through. If you think there is more to it, then yes there is but no, talk to me if you really do care. As in not for personal gain or a strange plea to pray to. In fact, I am telling you this because enough is enough, I sound bitchy but writing it out hurts me where it needs to. My best friend knows enough for me to know when he will show up my front door when I tell him to so that I will be okay.
I learned more about myself over the years, and the word help is a loose concept. I dialed my emotions so much I can't wake up from it. I am haunted by those who have come before me. I think about the garden variety of the people who have come and gone. From musicians to writers to scientists and models as to them being shamed for their performance, they became the monster they did not want to be, or they find themselves devoid of being a part of something in this world.
I will not take this post down because this is the part of me where I have to say that it will hurt me a lot. I am scared where I stand sometimes. I wake up on my mornings, thinking: I have to make a phone call (twice). Once at four, the second time at seven or eight, depending on the circumstances, only to realize it doesn't work like that anymore. Admittedly, I had a friend of mine call me up, but it was a mistake on their part, so comedically I went back to bed because of that laughing. I am not angry at anyone, I have been depressed, I wear a mask, so beautifully crafted and grafted from the parts where once I lay in bed I start to cry from the inside. Though I do not think you could see that easily through a lens, let alone from a phone call. I am hurt, I am broken, and I want to wake up. That last part, "I'm just watching a bad dream I never wake up from." So if anything in this world, I am depressed, I am broken, and I am hurt.
There is a song that goes, "Feelings change but I never feel enough and time heals in waves but won't fill the holes you dug...". Yes, it hurts. I have not slept well in a long time, and I cannot foresee when I will be able to again. Things change, time moves, but the way I learned to move forward was to know how much of it hurt and spill my guts. Someone told me to write it out, the feelings, though it will be raw and unchained I know it will hurt. Get mad, get angry, or just do whatever you want to do with the way I am expressing myself at this point because right now, I am at a tipping point. I don't harbor any resentment or anger or what may ever it is people will think I do.
Writers, oh yes, we are the broken soul. The one that cries out for attention when no one is listening or the complete opposite because at the same time, I learn we feel in the extreme of degrees. It is depressing, yes, it is. There is no better way to say this but when you want to find a feeling of relief or comfort, forget it. I don't want to hear medication or therapeutic sessions on the couch. I learned the support of a bed to be more relieving than the opposite end of an armchair telling me "How do you feel today?"
I suffer from bouts of depression, I had battled it out for years, only to have succeeded against it a few months ago just to fall off the wagon again. I have severe mood swings, yes I will admit it, I have a narcissistic complex. To keep them in check is something worth juggling through. If you think there is more to it, then yes there is but no, talk to me if you really do care. As in not for personal gain or a strange plea to pray to. In fact, I am telling you this because enough is enough, I sound bitchy but writing it out hurts me where it needs to. My best friend knows enough for me to know when he will show up my front door when I tell him to so that I will be okay.
I learned more about myself over the years, and the word help is a loose concept. I dialed my emotions so much I can't wake up from it. I am haunted by those who have come before me. I think about the garden variety of the people who have come and gone. From musicians to writers to scientists and models as to them being shamed for their performance, they became the monster they did not want to be, or they find themselves devoid of being a part of something in this world.
I will not take this post down because this is the part of me where I have to say that it will hurt me a lot. I am scared where I stand sometimes. I wake up on my mornings, thinking: I have to make a phone call (twice). Once at four, the second time at seven or eight, depending on the circumstances, only to realize it doesn't work like that anymore. Admittedly, I had a friend of mine call me up, but it was a mistake on their part, so comedically I went back to bed because of that laughing. I am not angry at anyone, I have been depressed, I wear a mask, so beautifully crafted and grafted from the parts where once I lay in bed I start to cry from the inside. Though I do not think you could see that easily through a lens, let alone from a phone call. I am hurt, I am broken, and I want to wake up. That last part, "I'm just watching a bad dream I never wake up from." So if anything in this world, I am depressed, I am broken, and I am hurt.
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