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.



Missing my moonbeam.

Living in the now, accepting things as they are, embracing your current situation -- should be so easy. But it's not. We are so accustomed to mulling over the past or wishing on a future, desiring something different, convincing ourselves the grass is greener on the other side. But that's no way to live. That's the way to live if you want to die before you even get the chance to live. Fully, properly, peacefully.

With my very dearest friends so far from near, I am forever guilty of wishing for a different situation -- that all my best friends and I could live in one place; that my family was just a drive away rather than a Facebook message and several thousand miles away. Despite my largely inexplicable attachment to LA, I abhor its desert-like characteristic when it comes to finding gem-like beings -- they are few and far between -- it's a barren city. But it's likely the city's and my fault alike, as I don't extend my efforts too far when it comes to sifting through socialscapes. I am happy with who I have, but the majority of who I have and cherish also happen to be out of physical reach.

When I have tears no one else can understand, silences no one else can translate, a broken being no one else can help put together, a shattered soul no one else can console -- I am left to my own vices. The vices of my mind whose tendency is to make matters worse; to dwell and dwell and dwell. I am not fully myself without my kindred spirits. My laughs aren't as often, my smiles aren't as wide, my heart not as full.

But I am full. I am whole. I am me.
Just not as me as I am with them.