Photo 10-22-15, 12 12 03 AM
I remember reading from Paulo Coehlo’s Zahir (and I’m paraphrasing) – how people could just pass by you on the street and not even know that you’re carrying the world on your shoulders.
Life is happening around us. And I’m sitting here feeling the total opposite. I keep wanting what I can’t have. I can’t accept it. Accepting it will be the death of me.

It’s a constant Sine Wave, really. Everything about me. Most of the time I stop myself from feeling anything because once things start to spiral down, I die. And then I’m back to being miserable. Do you ever feel that way? You’re laughing your heart out and in a split second, you’re back in your head telling yourself that this won’t last. And that things will get shittier minutes from now and you’ll hate yourself for being so fucking vulnerable. You allowed yourself to feel something. And now you must pay the price.
And you ask yourself over and over, you’ve already been here so many times. What’s new? Why aren’t you used to it yet? And you don’t know. You never do.
When you reopen old wounds again and again, will you ever get to a time when you’re numb? Why am I waiting for this to happen? I do everything with my heart. ┬áIt’s not like I would feel any less any time soon. Or ever.
I keep wishing, I keep wishing – the next time I’m as happy, I just want my life to end then and there. Because I couldn’t handle another disappointment. I’m so tired of the lies life makes to my face. I’m so tired of temporary bliss. I’m so tired of achieving it from situations I can’t be in forever.
I’m restless again. I’ve been sleeping all day. I’ve been wondering… If I’m even really here at all. It makes no sense. To be this dead inside and still be able to open my eyes.
I’m so close to doing it again. Somehow, I can’t help but hope I would be braver to just end it all.
It’s tiring. Having to be this way. It’s tiring to love something so bad. And I just can’t stop. Quitting has never been something I had planned on doing. And the threat of all this ending is just driving me off the edge, pushing me more. And I’m so close.
How am I supposed to do this.
I don’t see things getting better.
Why is it so hard to get through my skin.
I feel a thousand times worse on the inside.