Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

I’m only wearing these emotions. It’s all painted on passion, washed away during any rainy day.

It eats away at you from the outside in, or the inside out, or whatever fucking way makes sense to you. Honestly, it doesn’t mean a fucking thing, how this world breaks us. In the end, it doesn’t matter how a soul is ripped apart, because nobody has time to spare grief for another person’s pain when they have their own crumbling galaxy to pathetically hold on to.

I’m nothing but the ideas others project onto me, and so I’ve gotten into the habit of letting people down in the smallest of ways so they start to think of me as unreliable. At this point though is it really an act? That’s the question I have to answer now.

~Am I really just pretending to be this terrible, or was I always this way?~

Better yet, does it matter if I am doing this on purpose or not? I’m still fucking up..

So that’s it huh? I have been acting like a fuck up so people have reasons to hate me, but from the very start it didn’t matter what my motives were for acting the way I did…I was making the choice to let others down, so I was/am a piece of filth.

I want to go home.

But home is now the bottom of a bottle of pills that leave my stomach a mess and my mind a mashup of lost thoughts and incomplete dreams.

So what did home used to mean to me? How is it that I’m able to walk up a flight of stairs and put on a smile, tell a few jokes, laugh like I’m okay, then walk back down those stairs and know I’m seconds away from cutting my arm wide open?

I can spend a beautiful Friday afternoon playing catch with a funny friend, making jokes, dancing like an idiot, eating good food and having a good time, and the second I leave to head off on my own, I feel so fake I have to hit my head against my window, and I’m drained to the point where I sleep for 16 hours after taking another bottle of pills to silence my fucking demons..  

Author:

I believe all people are bits and pieces, and throughout life we can gather pieces from others or give some of ours away. Some people are only out to take everything they can, while others will give until they have nothing left, but most of us fall in between. And yet there are those people who will defy all logic and simply toss there pieces into the trash, for nobody and nothing at all. I don't know if it's possible to get back those pieces that have been thrown away, but this blog is all about my journey, to try and find out if someone who threw away everything for nothing can find something, or anything at all...I'm just looking for a reason to keep on living.

2 thoughts on “I’m only wearing these emotions. It’s all painted on passion, washed away during any rainy day.

  1. We so often wear a “brave front” when we do not want others to see how much we are suffering. I think this is made worse by the culture which admonishes us to “think positively” when our suffering is so acute. It is this disconnection from people which is killing us though. Vulnerability is very uncomfortable, but it is the only way to true connection. Your writing is so relate-able, friend. And the the pain is palpable. Know you are not alone in being in that dark place. And that you can emerge from that stronger.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, it means so much to me to hear things like this. I don’t talk about this sort of stuff with my family, I never could. But writing it, and posting my honest feelings, and hearing back from wonderful people like you, really keeps me going.

      Liked by 1 person

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