bliss-sad's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - It's cyclical. Or maybe it's science. Something about equal but opposite reactions. What rises will fall. Things aren't created or destroyed, only changed. I take comfort in these things, even if the meaning I've assigned them isn't intended. I'm so used to being my biggest, baddest opponent. I have no idea how to fight against an enemy that isn't myself. My therapist discharged me. He said I was doing better. I was. I am not now, but I was. I will again. When I was a little girl, I would ride my bike to the cemetary on the outskirts of town. I would take single flowers from heavily decorated graves and place them next to worn down, moss covered stones. I would sit on the grave of my maternal grandfather and I would talk to him, and all the spirits, about my life. I would tell them about what I was doing and who had been mean to me in school. I would tell them my darkest secrets. I would ask for help. Apparently, even when I was a child, I felt the burden of existence was to heavy to bear alone. When people I knew in real life began to be buried in the cemetary, I stopped going. I have always run from the ones who loved me... I'm nothing if not consistent. It's hard to have a brain that so actively works against you. I recognize my triggers, I can see that I'm not seeing things clearly, but it doesn't change the way that I feel. And I feel fucking shitty. I hurt. I am so painfully sad. I know that I'm not alone, but all I hear is silence. I don't know what one has to do with the other. 11:59 a.m. - 06.12.18 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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