20. Disafilliated Recruitment Counselor at UNF. Political Science/Criminal Justice/French. Bibliophile. Tree-hugger. Constant Contradictions. Hopeless romantic (with pessimistic influences).Questioning the universe Feedback
Sometimes I wonder if it’s coming back. The gray. The unfeeling. I wonder if I’ll just wake up one day and I won’t be able to push it away. Lately that’s how I’ve felt.
Like it’s coming.
Like it’s inevitable.
I don’t want to go back there again. I CAN’T go back there again. For me. For him.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t being strong for him.
Because he deserves someone who can actually function as a normal human being and not a ticking time bomb.
When I get down, what do I think about? Hmmm. Sometimes I’m sad for myself. I’ll admit. Sometimes I have a mental pity party. Sometimes I’ll think about someone from the past and just use it to make myself feel. Black is better than gray. Black is pain and feeling, gray is emptiness.
So sometimes, I’ll drown in the black just to remind myself that I have control over my emotions for better or worse.
Sometimes I’m sad for other people. I’m sad for the people back home, who are wasting their potential, their youth, their sanity, their health. I’m sad for the people who fill their emptiness with drugs. I don’t judge them. I’m no one to judge them, considering what I do is probably it’s own kind of fucked up. But it’s sad to see people do things to fill their emptiness, to make themselves fit in, or even to convince themselves that they don’t hate themselves, that they’re happy.
We all do it I suppose.
Me? I do it by pushing things away or bottling it up. Maybe it’ll catch up to me one day, but let’s be honest: I’m no stranger to running away.