Tuesday, August 16, 2016

bad apple

It sucks that you can't have fun to the fullest because this crap is pestering you to no end.

I told myself never to write about this again, told myself to just accept it as part of me that pushes me to be better, but at the same time I wonder if this is the right thing to do. Is it turning to venom in my conscience, because I tried to befriend it but ignores it too? Is this vengeance?

I'm not used to talking about this matter with other people, because I simply hate it. I'm not the type to expect consolations or comfort words whenever I speak about this. I hate how they react to it and I hate it more that I hate it whenever do that. Nothing they say puts me at ease. Which compels me to keep quiet about it. I repeat to myself over and over again that they won't understand and even if they do they don't feel the same way. They don't understand this itching feeling to get out of this skin and live outside of it, this longing to float with no tether.

They say if they love you they won't let you go to sleep upset. So what if they let me go to sleep feeling upset, does that mean they don't love me? Or they do love me, just not enough? Or they do love me enough, just that they don't know about this 'not letting you go to sleep upset' thing? It makes me wonder too, if I have ever made anyone I love feel this way. Have I ever made anyone cry to sleep the way I do sometimes.

It sucks that this unnecessary thinking just adds up to my being upset, and it sucks even more that I can't talk about it because I hate things.

My words are colliding with each other, though it feels good to get them off my chest. Lets me breathe.

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