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I miss people I was never that close to. In my mind we had meaningful conversations. So I avoid talking to them, for they are not the persons I had those conversations with, and reality will let me down.
Sometimes, not very often, I miss people that made me feel bad, but I struggled to keep in my life, wishing they would change. Now I got them out of my life, and it is the best decision. But every now and then I remember, I remember those little moments when I felt. I felt the whole world in one single moment. Then it was gone, never to return to me.
I have no idea what I came here to say. I feel like my thought keep slipping from my head, and I can’t help it. It may be the depression, it may be the meds, who knows. I just really, really want it to stop. As well as the shaky hands, that make me look nervous all the time.
Crying. Crying is good, cleansing. Not too much, though, it can mess your ideas even more.
I miss drinking. I really do. The numbness, the silly and easy laughter, the oblivion. All problems and issues feel so far away. Until morning comes, and hangover comes, and everything is worse. So I smoke some pot to make it better. Well, all that is gone now, if I want to give my meds a chance to help me.
Therapy. Oh my, therapy. So many feelings, stages, revelations. But mostly, I keep discovering anger, from long ago, that had been buried and hidden in my mind. Now I have no clue what to do with this aggressiveness, it feels so weird, so unlike me…
There is no way I can explain how important music and books have been for me. They have always been, but now in particular. My refuge, my real home, my most loyal friends, the only ones that can stop the noise in my head. Some authors, some books give me a feeling of belonging I don’t usually have. Belonging where, I don’t know, but less lonely, for sure.
Two days ago I found my first suicidal letter. It made me cry. It was terribly written and was a mess. I don’t know if someone found it that time. I hope not. Not really, I don’t give a fuck.
And that is the newest thing I am going through: not giving a fuck. Not about my family, not about my future/career, not about others’ feelings. I think I am getting the ability to shut down my soul for some time. And, gosh, it helps!
I feel ridiculous, but I feel really identified and close to the characters in The Perks of Being a Wallflower. The sadness, the confusion, the love and joy, mixed with tears.
"we only accept the love we think we deserve". that should be my next tattoo.
Well, I haven’t written in some time now, just pics and reposts. I feel like I should explain, sorta. I decided to post my more personal (read: depressive) stuff here, while I keep my main blog as normal as I can.
So, yeah, feel free to comment, ask, whatever, I know that many people are going through similar problems, and no-one, I can assure you, no-one will ever fully understand depression unless they had to deal with it. I learnt this the hard way.
Anyway, getting off topic, as usual, my ramblings, and such will be here to cheer you up!! :/
- we accept the love we think we deserve
- hope / courage (2 tats separados, en el costado de las manos, tal vez)
Según el tamaño y ubicación, podrían tener algún dibujo.
Por ahora son eso, ideas.
Everyone should have an emergency number, an emergency person. That person you know you can count on bailing you out of jail at 4am an a Tuesday, help you move, or go with you to a boring theater play.
1. Nothing is impossible. Simply learn the rules so you know how to break them properly. –Dalai Lama