Add a title WordPress says… what is a title? How do I write that I don’t want this any more? How do I write that I’m currently sitting here torn in two, part of me says tonight I need to end my life and the other part is desperately trying to place that wall back in front of my emotions and make me the cold unfeeling person that has been here since not long after my very last post on here. Which half’s gonna win? I don’t care any more… but no. That’s just it, I do care and I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired of trying to be perfect and not be so emotional and be better and just be what is wanted of me, what is expected of me. I’m tired of trying to be normal and of icing over every fucking crack so I appear normal to everyone. I’m tired.

I found the above the other day and I think it’s why I stopped writing. I stopped myself from becoming emotional, I became cold. I locked away every emotion so I wouldn’t feel anything when my mind replays the things that have happened over and over again. So I’d stop reacting when everything is crashing down around me. And so I’d stand silent when behind that facade I was breaking. It made me cold. I’m not proud of that fact. I’d become cold. Is this who I want to be? No. But the alternative? I don’t want to keep breaking again and again and again. Why can’t I be strong for once or better still? Why can’t I be normal? After seeing the above quote, it stuck with me… look at my poems… they’re very… huh, me? And in locking feelings away, maybe I locked away what torments me into writing because for me writing is in my blood, in my soul… its my heart bleeding down my fingers onto the screen or bleeding ink from a pen onto paper, it’s my soul, my very being ripping itself open onto the page, it’s the depths of despair and hatred and love and longing and blissful memories and closeness and sensual and its me… mixed up stormy hurricane me. Shutting down my feelings has taken that away so that even normal writing like what I’m doing now? It wouldn’t come. Hell… I haven’t even cried in ages because I can’t. Because I haven’t let myself. And yet here I am wondering what’s the point in living and feeling the tears sitting in my eyes and hurting… hurting and fucking look… the words are flowing.

This hits home with me. I saw it two days ago. The hardest thing for me is to exist. I don’t want to. But? I’m a parent. I have to. But? I DONT want to. Inside me? I hurt and I can’t tell you exactly where I hurt because it’s a deep fathomless aching hurt and it makes it just that little harder to breathe. I’m trying. I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to stand and not step off the ledge. The gray keeps promising me that the silence and the craving for everything to just stop will happen if I just let go and stop fighting. I’m trying. I’m trying…