Through hell and back

I think a small part of me finds life in putting myself through pain.
Feeling alive in pain, because to feel is to greater than to not feel.
Because pain is a lot stronger of a feeling than the happiness I can seem to find.



Just a Girl

I am the girl who is afraid.
My tough girl, nonchalant persona comes from discomfort of being with myself.
I don’t know how to be with myself.
I am scared of who I am, who I will know.
I am scared of all the bottles that will shatter.
I keep myself contained; in a bottle, a chest, a closet.
Whatever will keep me closed in.
I don’t let people know.


The process

A simple task becomes too complex when your mind is clustered,
your heart flustered,
you body jittered.

You don’t know where to begin,
you forget what you have to do.
You don’t remember how you ever did it before.
It seems like a task impossible.



I have come to the conclusion that I am a perfectionist.
I thought I wasn’t because, well, sometimes I couldn’t care less.
But apparently, you don’t have to be a perfectionist about everything to be a perfectionist.
Main point is that your drive is controlled by fear.
Your desire to succeed, not driven by motivation or for the want to do well, but fear.
Fear dominates.



This is me basically going crazy.
I have been noticing that I am going crazy, down the rabbit hole.
A black hole.
I see myself going down this hole and I don’t want to stop myself.
I just let myself slip.
I see help, and I just look past it, just further down the rabbit hole.
I just want to fall.
So deep that I can’t be seen.