they tell us to believe that “anything is possible” instead of allowing us to understand that none of our dreams are meant to come true. our suffering oils this machine. too many smiles can dry the well. for every giggle that slips from your lips, a million people weep into their hands.
i do not even pray the same. i have no faith. the words i mutter at night are for comfort and ritual. there is no-one listening.
i am one person amongst BILLIONS. i have zero net worth.
and social media shoves this nonsense down my gullet:
WHAT GOOD STUFF YOU FUCKING FLORAL FONTED MEME?
i want to say that i hate W for doing this to my life… but really, i am just jealous that he is somewhere better than i am. he got to create a fucking mess & tap out. his life & afterlife is so millennial.
Death hurts because it is diminishing. A life taken subtracts from our world, while we should be additive. We want new experiences, new things, stories to share. With death there is no new, it simply is. The chance for those shared experiences are gone, all we have are memories and the things they touched in life. It is not enough and it is unfair, but life is what it is for lack of better words. For the living that leaves two choices, acceptance or resentment.
There is strength in surviving.
The daylight grows shorter & my dread of the darkness swells. I can hear my voice of reason/angels/jiminy cricket whispering, “There will be starlight, though”.
“What a beautiful man,” I thought. “What a fucking waste”.
“Oh, my beautiful boy”, I cried. “What have you done to yourself?”
i paced the room, sobbing, some moments, wailing the others. i touched his cold skin a dozen times, trying to make this real. goodbye goodbye goodbye
it was difficult to remember how awful he was to me, while standing next to his body. those thoughts did not enter my mind.
half a year later, i see things with a bit more clarity. missing him makes living life impossible. i cross days off the calendar like i am counting down a prison sentence.
he cheated lied & betrayed me. every chance he could get he would hurt me.
i have never loved me
i waited to be told my worth by someone else
i want to be in love with me
i just do not think i am worth it.
We have each other. There are still puppies being born. Chocolate exists and helps after Dementors attack. There are wonderful books being written and works of art being created right this very moment.
Every night, I pray to be released from the pain of this mortal coil.
Every morning, I wake up to a new day.
I dropped a bottle of liquid stevia on my toe. The nail is coming off.
First world problems.
Swim with life as it continues on and grows or sink in the past that does not exist?
root, navel, crown:under-active
grinding out scripted feelings
that should have been left for dead