I am heavily stubbled, my usually vibrant green eyes are dull and in pair-bond with deep grey eye-bags. People once complimented me on how handsome I was. Now, the same people steer their kids away from me in the streets .My home is a mirror-edge visual representation of my mind.
I really want to pull myself out of this hole. I don’t want anybody else to help me. My problem isn’t that I don’t have anyone to help me. It’s that I have about a hundred hands reaching down the well to try and pull me out. I know that should give me hope. But, it doesn’t. When both legs are broken and the hands are too far away, how do you grab onto one? How do you decide which hand is the best to grab? How do you know that they’ll even be strong enough to pull you out? How can you trust dozens of different voices screaming at you, all at once, that they know what’s the best thing to do to get you out of the hole?
I wanted to stop doing drugs, so I stopped. Now, I drink. I didn’t fix the problem, I just substituted it for something else. I wish I had the strength to be happy. To climb out of the ditch I dug myself into. It’s no one’s fault but my own, and that’s what hurts the most. I can no longer point my finger, scream and blame someone else for the things that have gone wrong because I have finally acknowledged and accepted that it’s all my own fault.
pixelskylines
tangentwithtanner
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
titsay
yousharknotpass
prguitarman
turnnoffyourmind
