Dancing on the edge
I seem to be one of those people, who are more creative while being miserable. I started writing first stories and then songs mostly to deal with my depressions. For a while this worked perfectly.
Then I got better.
If I look at the last few years, it's been lovely. No mad rushes of "I am not good enough for anything, I want to die". Stability, just what I wanted.
But at the same time, the last years have been quite lonely. Don't get my wrong, I got loads of friends and I treasure you all, but I made a vow to myself, that before I wasn't able to deal with myself, I wouldn't rush into any relationship. I simply wasn't ready for making the distinction between being with someone and depending on the same someone.
Or in plain numbers: 1 fuck in 4 years.
And somehow I feel now, that my method of getting myself "right" was a stupid and terrible mistake. That I will stay alone for a very long time, because though might be stable, I am very far from healthy in any kind of way, body- or soulwise.
You can't imagine how much I just long for someone to hold be.
Staying all alone for a week while being ill is definitely not helping. I have talked to loads of people via the phone, but it's not the same. My subconsciousness must have being on full alarm all the time, because my stupid body had been craving huge amounts of chocolate. Always a bad sign.
I had too much time on my hands. You know I hardly ever see my room in daylight. But I did this week. A lot. And I know I am a lazy bitch, who tolerates her surrounds to get messier by the day, without doing anything against it. Now I see the chaos and I realize it is chaos. It's disgusting and I want it gone, but somehow I'm bound to this chair and don't know where to start.
Reflecting my live, my apartment, myself tells me one thing: I'm not a grown up. I live like a bloody teenager, surrounded by all the material things I've collected and full of hopes and dreams, that my live will finally start soon. That somehow I will drop out of this limbo and live. That I finally wake up and realize that these last 12 to 15 years have simply been a nothing but a nightmare and I can now start to make things right.
These dreams don't go away. They shift and change a bit, but essentially stay what they are. My own personal vision of how my life should be/have been. I have done nothing but toss in my sleep, gotten entangled in the bedsheets and now I don't know how to get out. Can't find the way, it's dark and I'm bound down.
My real ties are not that different. Money, or rather the lack of it. My fucked up education. My mistreatment of myself. My insecurities. My mental illness.
I seem to have been fighting so much. And it never was enough. Struggling along, keeping myself alive. But that's it. I'm alive, I survived the world and myself. But at what costs? And for what?
For what?
For not being able to get out of a financial mess once and for all?
For not being able to live the life I want, deserve and fell I'm destined to live?
For being alone? Being lonely?
Do I have to rip off the band-aid and open the old wounds? Because I know how to deal with them...
My future is nonexistent. A new day will come and I will wake up or sleep on, but I certainly won't be able to make any prognoses. Backed up in a corner, by myself, by the world.
Guess now I'm fucked up again to write a few pretty songs.
Then I got better.
If I look at the last few years, it's been lovely. No mad rushes of "I am not good enough for anything, I want to die". Stability, just what I wanted.
But at the same time, the last years have been quite lonely. Don't get my wrong, I got loads of friends and I treasure you all, but I made a vow to myself, that before I wasn't able to deal with myself, I wouldn't rush into any relationship. I simply wasn't ready for making the distinction between being with someone and depending on the same someone.
Or in plain numbers: 1 fuck in 4 years.
And somehow I feel now, that my method of getting myself "right" was a stupid and terrible mistake. That I will stay alone for a very long time, because though might be stable, I am very far from healthy in any kind of way, body- or soulwise.
You can't imagine how much I just long for someone to hold be.
Staying all alone for a week while being ill is definitely not helping. I have talked to loads of people via the phone, but it's not the same. My subconsciousness must have being on full alarm all the time, because my stupid body had been craving huge amounts of chocolate. Always a bad sign.
I had too much time on my hands. You know I hardly ever see my room in daylight. But I did this week. A lot. And I know I am a lazy bitch, who tolerates her surrounds to get messier by the day, without doing anything against it. Now I see the chaos and I realize it is chaos. It's disgusting and I want it gone, but somehow I'm bound to this chair and don't know where to start.
Reflecting my live, my apartment, myself tells me one thing: I'm not a grown up. I live like a bloody teenager, surrounded by all the material things I've collected and full of hopes and dreams, that my live will finally start soon. That somehow I will drop out of this limbo and live. That I finally wake up and realize that these last 12 to 15 years have simply been a nothing but a nightmare and I can now start to make things right.
These dreams don't go away. They shift and change a bit, but essentially stay what they are. My own personal vision of how my life should be/have been. I have done nothing but toss in my sleep, gotten entangled in the bedsheets and now I don't know how to get out. Can't find the way, it's dark and I'm bound down.
My real ties are not that different. Money, or rather the lack of it. My fucked up education. My mistreatment of myself. My insecurities. My mental illness.
I seem to have been fighting so much. And it never was enough. Struggling along, keeping myself alive. But that's it. I'm alive, I survived the world and myself. But at what costs? And for what?
For what?
For not being able to get out of a financial mess once and for all?
For not being able to live the life I want, deserve and fell I'm destined to live?
For being alone? Being lonely?
Do I have to rip off the band-aid and open the old wounds? Because I know how to deal with them...
My future is nonexistent. A new day will come and I will wake up or sleep on, but I certainly won't be able to make any prognoses. Backed up in a corner, by myself, by the world.
Guess now I'm fucked up again to write a few pretty songs.