It is a choice.

I will not focus on the past. I will be happy. I will do my best. Yesterday is gone, and today is here. I can only act so well with my limited knowledge. I will not judge. I will not hate. I will look after myself. I will enjoy the beauty of the day. I will try to develop some sort of compassionate feeling towards others. I will improve. I will move forward. I will not follow the usual path.


I will never be normal like you.

Fallen

It comes like a tornado - with warning, but very little. Stable for days, top-notch, on top, great. Then one thing here, and another there and I am faced with my lack of true role-models. The overwhelming ever present fact that my mother skipped me. The heavy weight of not being accepted by my childhood friends because I am not conservative or conventional. Hit with the knowledge that if I could, I would leave for a more secure family in a heartbeat, without a blink. I love my siblings, but I hate not knowing if they will respect me tomorrow. I just want affectionate, secure arms to spend a day in - where my thoughts are appreciated and cared for, where I am not called selfish for having feelings and needing care.

Yes, I understand that I am a grown woman, but my mother stopped seeing me when I was 16. I am missing a bit of development, be patient. I'm handicapped.

Empty Eyes

I have to get on, get up, get over.

Love and hate are the same; passion. Just two ends of the same scale. Passion never leaves, just changes. My ex boyfriend became one of my closest friends, but the scale forgot to change.

I have to take action, take control.

Silent Beauty

Dirty windows painted closed. People laughing and smiling. No sound passes to my ears. It's overcast and Hookah smoke surrounds them. I like to sit and wonder at their thoughts, their lives. They are more than I can figure out.

Dandelion Prison

Today I thought of a story, "The Girl in the Dandelion Prison." It was terribly short, and the plot was very overdone. So I didn't write it down - but if I had, it would have been here. So ultimately all I did was remember that this blog exists and needed some love.

Affected

I spent another night burrowed into the arms of an unwilling soul who just couldn't leave me there alone as I shouted at the demons of my mind. I'd blame the wine, but I am only too tense to act honestly when sober. It's always there, inside me. It's killing me from the inside faster than anorexia nervosa ever threatened.


One day I'll either die because of it, or overcome it.
We'll find out.

If you're never hurt, how is it strength?

Strength is not never being hurt. Strength is getting up every morning when your heart is broken with your pillow still damp and facing the day, smile or frown. Strength is not wiping your history from your mind and stepping out as if you are new. It is realizing that your history is a part of your present, stepping out as if you have learned. Strength is not never revisiting your pains, it is never letting them hold you back.

Don't call me weak for crying.
I truly loved and lost.
You are not supposed to come out of that unmarked.