Conformity is easy, but it isn’t for me. And I wish that didn’t sound so arrogant because it’s not my intention. Have to understand that everyone has something to offer. Nobody is better than you, and you are better than nobody. Sometimes, I wish there was no such thing as incompetency. But right now, I’m drowning in a sea of it. Fuck bureaucracy and formality. Dehumanizing. Fuck culture. We should define culture and not have our culture define us.
Be strong, girl. Like you always have been. Through all the shit that life has thrown at you. It may seem that you’re getting a lot more shit than others, but I know you, and you never one to compare so that probably doesn’t matter. Be strong, girl. You’ve always been stronger than I will ever be. I admire you for that. You’ll get through this. I wish I could say, because I did, or because I know other people did. But I don’t know anyone. That privilege is saved for you. You can be the example. You deserve more and I’ve tried to give you the best, as best as I can, and I’ll keep on trying. I apologise that my best is shit. I wish it wasn’t. But be strong, girl. And when you just can’t – I’m right here. Hello! But I must never stay too long. We understand that. But I’m right here, nevertheless. Believe. Trust. Though it’s hard – I try my best.
Be strong, girl.
I guess that’s it.
I’m scared, to move on. Stay with me.
You sit down to write but your mind won’t stop telling you that whatever it is you’re about to write will end up being stupid and useless and no one will appreciate it, not even you. You’ve lost all sense of purpose – why do you even write? Does it help anything. You’ve forgotten. You think too much. You care too much. So what if no one reads it. Stop giving a fuck – you idiot. Just fucking write, and fucking draw, and fucking create. Make beautiful things. Stop worrying so much. Stop numbing yourself. Let yourself love, and let yourself hate. Let yourself feel. Let yourself create. Just write it down – I miss you, I wish I could tell you that – and then move on. MOVE ON. Move, the fuck, on. You think you’re eternally stuck in this limbo (maybe you are) but it’s ridiculous. It really is. When I’m silent, you come closer. When I get closer, you run so far away. I don’t understand. Just cut me off. Paranoia. Frustration, sick. And yet you’re there to comfort. Why is it always so. You pursue poison but latch on to medicine. Unfair. You either die or heal – you can’t keep hurting and curing yourself. No. Stop this. Work on yourself. Please!
It gets hard. You’re constantly aware that everyone is living their lives – that what you see is only just the tip of the iceberg. That there’s so much hidden below the surface. That you shouldn’t compare. But, it gets hard.
Pretending gets hard. Numbing down what you feel gets hard. To be silent, is hard.
I should record myself saying sorry and have it infinitely loop around the world.
I need more strangers in my life – strangers who turn to friends. Listen to my story, please?
Pretense. Intense. Tense.
Empathy, lack of.
Or rather, not bothered.
False impressions, painted sceneries.
Unsettled woes and foes.
I don’t want it anymore.
I don’t want to care anymore.
why do I manage to do this, always.
too many sorry’s, always.
Talk to me.
How is your heart?
Nobody has the time to care anymore. I’m sorry if I lose my temper.
Breathe in breathe out ignore ignore ignore forget pretend fake it till you make it yes.