Let’s talk about the life I’d rather lead, one where my family is happy and healthy. A life where I’m free from constant pain, where every single day doesn’t seem like a drain. A modicum of truth that we all must accept is that the only certainty to life is that it ends with our deaths. It’s morbid, most say, to think and live this way, but I think of it as simply being a realist.
I haven’t always been this jaded, it’s a result of decades of feeling unappreciated. I put so many others before myself, I forgot that I’m supposed to take care of myself. That’s one of the hardest things to do when there isn’t anything that can help fix you. The pain I feel now will only get worse, to the point where one day I’m unable to move. It’s sad for me to now admit that I’d rather die before that day hits.
A ray of sunshine used to shine light onto everything that’s ever been dark in my life, but I find myself lately trying to avoid it, afraid for anyone to see who I’ve turned into. I can’t help myself but feel ashamed that I’ve let the world make me this way, this isn’t who I wanna be, and I’m trying my best to get back to being me.
“She was either wildly naive, or dangerously intelligent. Her body, flecked with scars, was a puzzle of near misses and mistakes that she wouldn’t let herself repeat.”
I seem to be identifying lately with concepts such as these. I’ve always struggled with whether I’m feeling weak or strong, and whether or not the person I’ve become is who I’ll be forever. I’m not proud of myself anymore, some days I feel like I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror. I hope that something comes along soon to remind me of who I am, and to give me hope that life can improve.
He set fire to the world around him, but never let a flame touch her. He was fearless in the most dangerous of ways, not to others, not to society or humanity, but mostly to himself. In his mind, his thoughts all thrive on darkness and revenge. The plans he makes, the times he spends obsessing over every detail. He can’t subside without compromising everything he believes in, but he can’t seem to fight this newfound person living in his head.
You can’t run from your shadow, but you can learn to co-exist. You can fake a smile, run a mile, or pick up a new friend. Read a book, glance and look for some kind of distraction. Drive to the ocean, see the waves in motion, and stay there for awhile. Rub your toes in the sand, get yourself a tan, and really just go wild. You might unwind if you find the time to let yourself relax, so take a seat, put up your feet, and get ready to take a ride.
She was a girl made of ice and glass, but she would risk being broken to help someone in need, especially someone she loves. She’s the kind of girl that society says doesn’t truly exist, she’s elusive and isolated inside her own thoughts and feelings. She’s unable to put herself first, despite her visible fragility and lack of proper care. She’s secluded from society even in a room overflowing with people and noise, not for her lack of trying.
She’s the girl whose eyes convey a certain type of sadness that’s easily seen from across a crowd. The girl who makes you appreciate your life because of her obvious misery, the girl nobody wants to be around because of the suffering she shares. She’s unable to shield the struggles from her fave, even through the closest thing to an honest smile she can muster. She’s the epitome of empathy, yet her presence calls for sympathy no matter how hard she tries.
This post started as a short sentence prompt I found on Pinterest, but it quickly turned into something that I could relate with deeply. Have you ever started a prompt and it unexpectedly turned into your subconscious pouring out your feelings about yourself without you even realizing? I find this happening more often, despite my attempts to write outside of my perspective, sometimes it just forces itself out.
“Welcome to the land of nightmares, where terror reigns and the only escape is in your wildest dreams.”
When I was 3 years old, I was diagnosed with PTSD. I’m not comfortable getting into the why aspect yet publicly, but I would like to talk about how powerful our dreams can truly be, and how deeply they can impact our lives. Until I was a teenager, I would often sleep with my eyes open, too afraid to actually let myself get a restful night’s sleep. As a coping mechanism to help myself sleep better, I compulsively sucked my thumb for over a decade of my childhood, taking it with me well into my later teenage years. I couldn’t overcome it until I was 16 years old, although I started fully closing my eyes while sleeping when I was around 11. What people don’t tell you is that there are monsters in our minds as well, that our dreams can actually be quite haunting. I dreamt of things far worse than most of my childhood memories, and I seriously struggled to tell the difference between the two, becoming afraid that my dreams were actually reality. When you don’t feel safe at home and even your sleep becomes compromised, it’s incredibly and increasingly difficult to trust people, to allow yourself to enjoy and truly experience your life. Living in fear can really be the most crippling feeling, it can leave you feeling helpless and restless, and I wouldn’t wish it on even my worst enemies.