I May Have Lost My Way Now.. But for Sure I Know That In A Future I'll Be On The Top Of The World. This Where I Express Myself And Write What's On My Mind .. Since it's The Only Way That I'm Able To Communicate With People.. WARNING: may contain triggering images and writing... And it's Bipolar, Love you all
Fairy Pools, Isle of Skye- Western Scotland
You just don’t understand, it is always a storm inside, It never ceases and refuses to. I’m afraid that I long lost sanity and that now I just pretend; maybe I just turned into a humanoid; I laugh when the situation demands it, I eat when people are expecting to eat in front of them. I say I’m fine even though I’m caught up in the darkness. I feel everything at once and nothing at all. I live my life as a machine and I keep on wondering if anyone sees through me. The ache is overwhelming but I welcome it every time since it’s the only sign I have that tells me I am- sadly- still alive. A painful reminder that it is hard for me to accomplish my goals and desires and I know that if I applied myself more often I could reach, at least, half way to my ambitions. But I always play it safe and I need someone to hold me and tell me I am fine and that I will go through it alright. That even though my thoughts eat me alive at night, that the rain will come to an end and that maybe it’ll stop hurting.
Or maybe simply I should stop thinking that my companions have talks behind my back and comment all of that they can’t because they pity me. Maybe I should stop being paranoid over if they laugh about or not, if they make fun of me or if they actually like being around. Maybe I am just fucking weak person that is too dependant on what people’s opinions are. But for me those opinions are different because they don’t come from complete strangers but from closed people with whom I have shared a few secrets and life experiences with, I wonder if any of my sisters hate me or feels constantly irritated by my mere presence in the room. Of that I bring nothing else but a weird image of myself to others since my choices for music, movies and books are so messed that people would have no interest on starting a conversation/
I worry my face and body. I’m not the prettiest and no brain. I am way too short and fat for anyone to be captivated by. Maybe I just want to experience true love but I know that will be too good for me and that I don;t deserve it because I’m too much of a horrible person. I shouldn’t be alive, and in more occasions than I can recall, I have considered drawing the blade a bit deeper to be able to gain more paint for my drawings. But at the moment of true I’m even to weak to go trough it. I am a liar and good for completely nothing, I burden people with barely breathing and I know they hate me. I know they look at me and want to be rid of me. And I am extremely sorry that I can’t erase myself just like that because I am afraid that even at dying I will fail.
Because my demons and thoughts consume me I no longer liver for pleasure but for the mere reason that I can’t carry a simple task as ending it all for once and for all. I seem to enjoy the asphyxiating pain that burns each fibre in my body and I seem to enjoy when others suffer, because I am selfish like that. I’m jealous when someone has it easier than I do, because it is tedious when I can’t have whatever I want no matter how hard I work for it.