Category Archives: Personal
You’re never going to stop crying about the past loves you wished had worked. Because every time you gave your best and failed.
A man can’t make you hate yourself and expect you to love them unconditionally. With all the self-loathing there’s little room for love. And just because you’re different, he tells you you’re wrong. And no matter what you say or do, he cannot get into your shoes and see what you see and feel what you feel. In this instance what you’re asking for is too much. So you quietly walk away. Forget about the unanswered calls and the messages you ignored. You pray you deserve better than him. In the least someone who would love you for who you are. Isn’t that the least anyone ideal would do.
I don’t have to be with you to be yours. I already am. It’s the only way I exist. Me without you isn’t an existence I can bare. As clichèd it is to meet the right person under the wrong circumstances, that we did.
We are all continuously fighting our own battles everyday. Some battles are with ourselves and others are with the world. Both driving you insane. You can’t wait for the calm, for this chaos to pass. For the world to feel peaceful and safe. But will it ever?
I feel lost. More than I did before. I can’t seem to understand why. When I think about it too much pops into my head and yet, I don’t understand it at all. Clarity is so far off, that nothing even begins to make sense. But maybe, that is how we all feel these days. Nothing is certain, and uncertainty seems to be crippling. It seems that no matter how hard you work to secure yourself, your emotions and your health, the course of life ends up disrupting it all. Often with a big fuck you. I used to think I had come far, from all my pain and all my wounds. All the unaddressed trauma. I was wrong, it’s only dormant. Still very much alive, resting in corners to tick you off when you least expect it. How must one break free when all of it is slowly breaking you down. I can’t trust anyone. Not a single person. And that is a wretched way to be living. It’s exhausting, being the only person you can count on. Even when so many love you, you’re still very alone. With all your demons persisting that it is never going to be any other way. It feels like a privilege to have someone you can lean on, to have someone you can ask to take it from here, that I need a minute or two. From this chaos. Words keep running dry. Maybe because I feel too much, or feel nothing at all. It’s all dormant. It is not a blessing, to not understand you, to not feel. And yet, be tangled in wrath. How I wish to be free, free from it all. All my foolish decisions, and myself. This life has driven me to its edge. Denial has killed me. Writing about heartbreak has become pointless. Finding love is no longer a desire. Passion is long lost. How am I to carry on.
All of your life, you have carried on feeling empty and hollow. You never did realize what you’ve been looking for is a form of compensation for the lack of a support system. So, in a sense, it isn’t wild that you’ve always felt lost. Yet it is equally dreadful that you were constantly bashed for being the best of whom you could have been in the circumstances. It has never enough. You’ve always had to be doing better.
But why you? Why not them? Why not the people who’ve inflicted their pain upon you?
The kinda hugs that you wish you could stay in forever, the kinda people you wish you could always hold on to. The ones you’ve shared too much with & nothing they do ever is an excuse enough to let go. The ones who’ve become too toxic for you to stay with & impossible to be without.
When you love the version of yourself you grew into with a particular person, when they leave, do you stay put so you can stay intact the way they left you? Because moving even an inch would mean growing without them and becoming someone they would never know again. Would you want to become someone the person you loved never gets to know?
But.
What good is staying waiting for a train that may never come? And what good is leaving if it means forgetting what made you happy? Lastly, what good is writing about lost love, when it only spirals you into devastation.
She Was Sea 