the first of the gang to die
This is so fucking stupid.
What has become of my words? To think it has been so many years. And I have such a warped view of time. My old journal was filled with writing for four years. I read it all the other day. So much despair. So little self awareness.
Ok, some things have changed. Therapy is productive for once. I'm working through a lot of elemental patterns. I'm seeing sabotage. I'm finding ways to relax and to calm the anxiety, more often than I used to. My neurosis feels less like a prison.
But still I drop everything for a chance of feeling. Emotion rules my life from morning til night. I love so fucking easily - family, friends, lovers, all still hold a piece of me. And oh but those pieces are so easily bruised and sullied, so easily lost. Not because of any external malice, but because of my own crushing vulnerability.
I'm thinking about so many things. Trying not to think about so many things. Keep it up, keep it up, keep it up.
What has become of my words? To think it has been so many years. And I have such a warped view of time. My old journal was filled with writing for four years. I read it all the other day. So much despair. So little self awareness.
Ok, some things have changed. Therapy is productive for once. I'm working through a lot of elemental patterns. I'm seeing sabotage. I'm finding ways to relax and to calm the anxiety, more often than I used to. My neurosis feels less like a prison.
But still I drop everything for a chance of feeling. Emotion rules my life from morning til night. I love so fucking easily - family, friends, lovers, all still hold a piece of me. And oh but those pieces are so easily bruised and sullied, so easily lost. Not because of any external malice, but because of my own crushing vulnerability.
I'm thinking about so many things. Trying not to think about so many things. Keep it up, keep it up, keep it up.