(no subject)
I need a blog.
I need to write right now.
Why is it that human beings can't bear to separate themselves from that one person who's energy's most prominent mark on their own is purely toxic? We'd much rather perpetuate a slow and gentle (oftentimes quite the opposite) balloon ride toward hatred of that other we can't simply part. In so many words.
Instead, we'd much rather drag it out and create a stink so putrid you know this shit has been molding for months. Yet, we depend on our compulsive neediness for toxicity in a loving, nourishing way.
Please, not my drama. Take everything but my drama!
I want you, I feel you, stinky drama o' mine.
Let me tell you something. I am sick and tired of changing, too. There, I said it! I am filled to the brim with getting to know myself again, and tired of the anxiety that kind of recognition brings about.
My hands look old in this light, the light of the drama of those two sentences above.
I should embrace change because it is so organic for everything involved in the process of life. Even a star. Especially a star. Truth be told I've never liked the concept of change. The subject was the birthplace of many a temper tantrum, and still is today. Except when you grow up temper tantrums turn into anxiety attacks, which if you don't have the right tools to manage can feed your depression.
I want things that don't exist. Not in our world. I say our meaning humans. I know it sounds so pessimistic and whiny, but if you were to hear my tone, I'm saying it to simply and matter-of-fact.
People kill themselves because they just cannot handle the every day ebb and flow of life and can we not blame them? Can we not at least feel some sort of empathy or relation? I know I can. The pursuit of happiness is such a phrase to me, it will drive me until I die myself.
There are things that I miss because I've never had them and I wonder, can that be so?
Dear Diary,
I want to have different chemicals swimming in my body, I want the kind that glow in the dark though.
I wish I could justly convey how I really feel. The pursuit of good literature. I mean I guess everything is just another try.
I need to write right now.
Why is it that human beings can't bear to separate themselves from that one person who's energy's most prominent mark on their own is purely toxic? We'd much rather perpetuate a slow and gentle (oftentimes quite the opposite) balloon ride toward hatred of that other we can't simply part. In so many words.
Instead, we'd much rather drag it out and create a stink so putrid you know this shit has been molding for months. Yet, we depend on our compulsive neediness for toxicity in a loving, nourishing way.
Please, not my drama. Take everything but my drama!
I want you, I feel you, stinky drama o' mine.
Let me tell you something. I am sick and tired of changing, too. There, I said it! I am filled to the brim with getting to know myself again, and tired of the anxiety that kind of recognition brings about.
My hands look old in this light, the light of the drama of those two sentences above.
I should embrace change because it is so organic for everything involved in the process of life. Even a star. Especially a star. Truth be told I've never liked the concept of change. The subject was the birthplace of many a temper tantrum, and still is today. Except when you grow up temper tantrums turn into anxiety attacks, which if you don't have the right tools to manage can feed your depression.
I want things that don't exist. Not in our world. I say our meaning humans. I know it sounds so pessimistic and whiny, but if you were to hear my tone, I'm saying it to simply and matter-of-fact.
People kill themselves because they just cannot handle the every day ebb and flow of life and can we not blame them? Can we not at least feel some sort of empathy or relation? I know I can. The pursuit of happiness is such a phrase to me, it will drive me until I die myself.
There are things that I miss because I've never had them and I wonder, can that be so?
Dear Diary,
I want to have different chemicals swimming in my body, I want the kind that glow in the dark though.
I wish I could justly convey how I really feel. The pursuit of good literature. I mean I guess everything is just another try.