///RIP///

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.

///LONE///

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?

///PAIN///

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.

Pain,

depression,

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.

///MOONBEAM///

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.

///BROKEN///

I've broken everything.

My phone.

My walls.

My hands.

My body.

My face.

My heart.

My spirit.

My self.

My peace.

Over and over again.
I'm a broken girl,
and a broken record.

What do you do when you continually hit rockbottom?

You take on the arduous task of building yourself up again.

Because there is simply no other choice.

///FADING///

 

Detachment as a sort of refuge. Antisociology -- I always come back to it. It's my natural state: a hermit, a loner, a preference for solitude, comfort with solely my own company. Just as they say only speak if your words are more valuable than silence, only seek the company of others if their presence is more valuable than yours alone.

It's ironic though: I detach from society oftentimes then, conversely, I detach from myself just as wholly. I will give my whole being to give and care for others; putting their needs before mine as if it's beneficial somehow. But I learn time and time again that condemning oneself to a life of pure selflessness is not as wonderful as it seems. Utter selflessness can become dark, twisted; it can become neglect of self, it can become deprivation of your own needs, it can become starvation of your deserving spirit.

Thus, balance. Balance is always key. I am relentlessly reminded through shitty situations of this dire fact of existence. One must balance selflessness with selfishness. Selfish so commonly has a negative connotation -- of greed, of disgusting self interest. But I believe selfishness can also be self care, self love, thoughts and actions with your own best interest at heart (all things I am constantly having to learn and relearn because self-hatred, sadly, is a frequent knocker on my psyche's door).

The strands of my soul are incessantly being torn in polar directions. I can feel the deepest guilt and shame and embarrassment for surrendering to solitude and not speaking to or seeing friends for months on end. And I can feel the most self-deprecating resentment and loss of self when I repeatedly and consciously push my own needs aside to tend to the voids of others. I wonder -- do I hide in the confines of my house, the corners of my mind when I cannot stand society; and burrow myself, lose myself in the company of others when I cannot stand myself?

Solitude and socializing; depression and happiness; work and play, hate and love, complete destruction and utter peace -- it's comes so easily, so logically, so naturally for others to find a calming midpoint with such matters. But, for me, all I've ever known were the binary extremes.

Too much and not enough.

And nothing in between.


fast fading away from myself
just as much
as i am fading away from you


(AKA when you bipolar AF but don't fuck wit labels 😂)

Mental disease is so widely bandaided with pharmaceutical drugs, when really it is just that: a dis-ease.
An uneasiness of character that can be remedied with deep, difficult insight; healing from within rather than from without.