Waste Of Paint

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

another tuesday

I feel down.  I feel low.  I feel like sustaining happiness is a basically futile and pointless task.  I keep getting back here, no matter how much better things get for me.  Even when I am acting from my center and being consistent with my life and views I end up back here.  I end up feeling alone and separate.  I miss everyone I love, I miss so many things and people....it feels like cheesecloth has been run across my heart and it's torn, shredded.  I don't trust myself.  I don't trust my ability to be fair, to be honest, with myself and those around me.  I am scared.  Far too often I let fear make my decisions for me, i let anxiety take control of my life.  Far too often my number 1 priority is feeling ok.  I want to burn myself, i want to smoke every cigarette on the planet, i want to see the blister on my skin and the satisfaction in that accomplishment.  I want a scar, i want to see myself how i am, bruised, bloodied, damaged.  I do not see myself as well, I see myself as barely hanging on.  Like most things in my life I am old, beaten up, held together by ducktape and a shred of hope.  Gnarled skin meets chewed fingertips in a collision of flesh, nail, and blood.  Proof that being human being is at best uncomfortable in this world.  I don't fit.  Too much of this place is deep within me, too much of this place deeply holds me, in places I have yet to find.  But I will keep the search going.  I will root out the anxiety gifted to me by my broken mother, i will tear out the anger from my father, and i will smash the obedience demanded from me by this authoritarian planet.  I will dig away at myself, through skin veins muscle and bone, until i have found