Breakups are the worst. The general sense of apathy, of not being motivated to accomplish anything, of not having the energy to explain your breakup to your friends, of not wanting to relive it. Staying home, in your bed, in your only haven, safe from reality. Hiding from the world and sinking deeper and deeper in your sorrows until you question your existence and loathe your life.
I’m not sure why everything I get into is so short-lived. I really do wonder that what it is about me that is so inherently flawed that I end up here over and over again. Oh, no. I’m not really supposed to say that. Instead of feeling like an immense failure every time things take a U-turn, I’ve been advised that I should be kinder to myself and be there for myself more in these times. But where it gets tough is the way my mind is wired it rebuts any positives and refuges in the negatives. When things don’t work out I worry that I’ll never be loved the right way, that my expectations are too high, and that I don’t deserve much. And every time something fails, a little bit more is lost. And finally, I devolve into a void of emptiness with no reason to exist. I know, that’s a stretch, but you’d understand too if you could hear the thoughts that unfurl in this head of mine. That is exactly how it feels. No exaggeration. I’m most prone to self-destruction here in my lows.
She Was Sea 