(no subject)
In my pursuit of happiness, I've encountered everything but it. Sometimes, I wonder if life is just here as a barracade between people and happiness, because that's all it's serving to be for me right now.
I lack motivation of any sort. I even lack the motivation to write. I need an outpouring of the soul, and even as I'm typing these words, I'm restless. I can't sit still for two seconds without this dull thumping in my chest, in my core, in my very marrow, becoming too much to bear. If I had some strong painkillers and a subtle knife, I'd set to carving in to find what's causing the throb. Because it really is that painful. So painful that tears no longer comfort. They only burn like acid in the corners of my eyes.
Why has every goal slipped away from my grasp? Why do I sit here, clinging to these false ideals...pining for them to be real, to form before my very eyes and be mine? Why is it that the grass is greener? Because, honestly, my grass here is brown and lackluster, while elsewhere, it's pastoral heaven? Why do people hurt me...? Why do they not see the damage they are doing? Or is it really that I'm doing it to myself? Am I seeing a false reality played out in my head, while outside everything is opposite? Am I purposefully wearing a mask in front of people...and expecting them to see the real me beneath? Somehow, I fear this is all my fault.
But I feel completely incapable of fixing any of it.
I miss being comforted. I've not had it in so long. I miss being safe. I cannot remember the last time I could honestly say I've felt safe.
So...back to this pretend life I've crafted. Perhaps one day I'll break free of it.
I lack motivation of any sort. I even lack the motivation to write. I need an outpouring of the soul, and even as I'm typing these words, I'm restless. I can't sit still for two seconds without this dull thumping in my chest, in my core, in my very marrow, becoming too much to bear. If I had some strong painkillers and a subtle knife, I'd set to carving in to find what's causing the throb. Because it really is that painful. So painful that tears no longer comfort. They only burn like acid in the corners of my eyes.
Why has every goal slipped away from my grasp? Why do I sit here, clinging to these false ideals...pining for them to be real, to form before my very eyes and be mine? Why is it that the grass is greener? Because, honestly, my grass here is brown and lackluster, while elsewhere, it's pastoral heaven? Why do people hurt me...? Why do they not see the damage they are doing? Or is it really that I'm doing it to myself? Am I seeing a false reality played out in my head, while outside everything is opposite? Am I purposefully wearing a mask in front of people...and expecting them to see the real me beneath? Somehow, I fear this is all my fault.
But I feel completely incapable of fixing any of it.
I miss being comforted. I've not had it in so long. I miss being safe. I cannot remember the last time I could honestly say I've felt safe.
So...back to this pretend life I've crafted. Perhaps one day I'll break free of it.