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I& #39;m so exhausted.
Back to the looming dread of hating myself again for the first time in years.
I& #39;ve seen some nasty shit, I& #39;ve done some nasty shit, but apparently arguing whether an artist is a pedo or not is the straw that breaks the camel& #39;s back.
Back to the looming dread of hating myself again for the first time in years.
I& #39;ve seen some nasty shit, I& #39;ve done some nasty shit, but apparently arguing whether an artist is a pedo or not is the straw that breaks the camel& #39;s back.
I know not everyone will question everything about themselves constantly. Most probably not with the frequency I do, anyway.
The lines I took so long to draw suddenly get smudged and I suddenly find myself thinking if this is all worth it.
The lines I took so long to draw suddenly get smudged and I suddenly find myself thinking if this is all worth it.
That my scrutiny ruins everything. That I take everything too personally. That I police too hard and often. I& #39;m so tired and I wonder if I& #39;m just a big selfish baby who needs to have their way. I really do try to see things another way. Times I can& #39;t reach info that allows me to.
And then the times I hear and fail to listen. The times I either process the gravity too much or not at all and fail my friends. That any sort of distancing themselves from me utterly destroys me so easily.
I feel so confused, and the uncertainty terrifies me to my core.
I feel so confused, and the uncertainty terrifies me to my core.
Hearing how much I mean to someone, and that they cherish myself and the kindness I& #39;ve extended, and then turn around and fail to do the same for a larger margin of people I want to hold closer. I can& #39;t read minds. I put my foot in my mouth so much. I won& #39;t know what& #39;s best.
These past few months I& #39;ve felt more alone than ever. I& #39;ve made attempts to reach out and better myself again, and I can never pull myself back up again unless someone else instills a powerful sense of obligation back up in me.
But as much as I wish, no one will do it for me.
But as much as I wish, no one will do it for me.
I know it& #39;s possible to be and feel good enough for the ones I care about. I can& #39;t be good enough for everyone, but I want to be good enough for more than just a few.
To those who& #39;ve extended their love in return, I& #39;m not in a state I can do the same right now.
To those who& #39;ve extended their love in return, I& #39;m not in a state I can do the same right now.
This isn& #39;t anyone& #39;s fault, and I can& #39;t force anyone to change things they feel strongly about. I want to ask, can you be so sure about everything?
Reasons that support each other into an endless loop. Even when I show my solidarity for the oppressed, I still question it.
Reasons that support each other into an endless loop. Even when I show my solidarity for the oppressed, I still question it.
I still question something I do that is nothing but objectively good while polishing up how I can do it better than before for myself. I mention that loop of reason, but I don& #39;t have closed loops myself. I have to absolutely pick apart every detail and its meaning.
Like I haven& #39;t tried different ways of looking at everything. I can& #39;t suddenly explain every single impressionable memory and how it shaped me all these years. I wish I had more control about which of those experiences I retain. I get overzealous to such a fault.
It& #39;s gotten myself and everyone around me hurt so many times before. To criticize and pick apart everything presented before me, sometimes too quickly, sometimes long after I& #39;ve reached the end of the rabbit hole.
The times any light makes it look the same to me.
The times any light makes it look the same to me.
And then the melodramatic and meticulous detail I use for something so simple because I genuinely have no idea how to cut all the fluff out and speak plainly like how I want others to speak to me.
