If birth and death are nonesuch,
if time is merely a manmade concept,
then a birthday can be a deathday,
and a deathday can be a birthday.



When only music or a book or a ray of sun or the gentle sway of a windchime or the emptiness of your room or the drawn out exhale of your inner self are the only things making you feel less alone. No tangible person could ever feel precisely what you are feeling. It saddens me when the company of others actually makes me feel more alone. When I would rather twist and turn amongst the colorful fantasies of my mind. There's more for me there than here.

So why am I here?


It's as if pain is just another drug
that you try to quit yourself time and time again,
but fail every time.
You can't do it alone.
cycles of anxiety,
suicidal thoughts,
uncontrollable rage,
repetitive insecurities..
You need the support of someone or something else
to help you out of the otherwise endless abyss.
You need that helping hand
to reach down to you in your darkness
and help lift you out of it.
It won't be easy,
but don't give up.

I hate this place of darkness.
The one that envelops my whole being.
That asphyxiates all feelings,
rendering me helpless
and hopeless
and scared.