#deeplyfeeling

I'm trying really hard to be this person that has her shit together, that has some form of fucking control over anything that has to do with my life. I'm trying really hard not to be so god damn fucking angry at everything. At the world, at myself, at people in my life. I'm trying to mask it all with some point or validation or giving it a mean by saying "this has to happen for a reason. It had to." But maybe that's just it, that's what's driving me crazy. Maybe there is no reason why bad things happen or good things happen. Maybe there is no reason and it's just that, a thing that happened. It's just the universe being cruel and the universe giving you a break once in a while because if we're being honest there is ALWAYS something. There will always be a time in your life where it feels like bricks are sitting on your chest and there will always be a time after the bricks when the light peaks through one small crack and you have that moment where you don't feel like you're drowning and you think "This is it, this is where things get better. This is where I get better." And it's true you do get better. You get better every time, but there will never not be a time when there isn't bricks sitting on your chest and that is what is so goddamn heartbreaking to me. We are born and we suffer and we live and we are happy and sad and everything in between and then we just die. Our bodies go into the ground or get spread out somewhere that was once meaningful to you if your family or friends know you, if you're lucky. If you're lucky you might also find love. I'm trying, I'm really trying to find the goddamn crack in the pile of bricks but fuck. What's the point? What is the god damn point.

Sunday, September 16th, 2018. 2:36 pm.

And no one knew what it took to become this soft. No one knew what it took out of me to rebuild myself time and time again and that’s the shitty part of recovery. No one knew how many times I had relapsed, if not physically but mentally. No one knew how many times I had to rebuild myself and my heart, no one. That’s the fucking hard part of recovery. When everyone thinks you’re constantly recovering when really you can’t get out of bed but you say you’re fine anyways. That’s depression. That’s mental illness. It’s not beautiful, it’s fucking heartbreaking.

And if you’re going to love me, you need to know that I am a complete mess. I cry whenever someone raises their voice and I always think that I’m never good enough because in the past that’s been the case. I cry whenever I start to even remotely think about my future because I don’t know who I am without this sadness and I don’t think I’m ever going to get better. I love animals way too much so I’m always bringing strays home. I get attached way too easily and I don’t know how to keep a conversation going. There’s days when everything is too much and I won’t speak to a single soul so please don’t take offense when I don’t return your calls. I come with a lot of baggage so you should know that I am no ray of sunshine and I am not made of fairy dust and everything pink and sunny. I am made of heartache, tears and sadness. If you’re going to love me, you should know that I open up way to easily and it leaves me with nothing for myself and that hurts. I let people take pieces of me whenever they decide to leave so I’m hoping that you won’t do that. As much of a realist that I am, I love romance. I don’t believe in a prince saving me, but I do believe in unicorns and ghosts. I always say my favorite color is blue, but if you ask me why I don’t have a happy meaning for it. I haven’t been to my father’s grave since the day we put him in the ground and that eats away at me. Holidays are always hard even though I always have a smile on my face. If you ask me what’s wrong more than likely I’ll say that nothing is wrong and that I am in fact fine. This is far from the truth. I am never fine, but there are days when I’m okay and if you can’t understand that then you should not be telling me you love me. I’m scared of love and what it does to people so if at times I push you away I am sorry. So I guess what I’m trying to say if that I am no picnic in the park and I hope that you can still say you love me. I am not for everyone, but I hope I am for you.

and i loved you. maybe even a little too much.