I told myself I wasn’t going to post here until I started my short story, but I found an old journal of mine and felt like I should post anyway. I was flipping through it and I was kind of startled at how much I wanted to die. Not because I’m better, but because I have made absolutely no progress. If anything, I’ve gotten worse. I’m more isolated now. I feel things less. I’ve lost any bit of hope I had before.
Damn, usually when I see these types of things, people always say how much better they are, and I’m jealous. I don’t want to be like this anymore. I don’t want to be so alone and so cold all the time, but I really was just born to be this way.
That’s it for now, I really want to start my story.
4 comments
I can’t imagine a world where you were born to be anything other than blessed and loved! Being alone doesn’t have to be a bad thing. I get what you’re saying though, it’s a long journey and sometimes it’s like, «f this s#!t I’m outta here»http://youtu.be/5FjWe31S_0g
This is a song for that moment.
Hope you have a good writing session
Did you get worse? Or better? ^_^
Both! I go up and down, high and low, daily. It’s exhausting. Mostly it’s a steady upward trajectory. Mostly.
Lord, you can be warm. I know it.