I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m not the problem. This escapes my control. It’s a tough reality, but the one that forces me to move forward. Saying I’d rather not know and meaning it, that’s a new sensation. I’m quickly associating this with growing up. Doesn’t a child always want to know? Answers aren’t always the true answer. Ignorance it’s bliss, so I’d rather not know. That’s an easier answer. Not a deceitful one, but the ambiguity is welcome. Because, let’s be clear, what would a child do with the moon if it got it? The same thing I can do with the answers I have. Not implying that paranoia is any less obsessive. My mental health suffers either way. Consequentially, I can’t stop fighting, and then the obscure room is the one to put me to sleep. Nightmares undeniably ensue, but they’ve started to hurt less than sheer reality. I’m dying inside, living as a mess of tears, blank stares, meaningless words, self-destructive thoughts. I’m running at light speed in circles. A vicious cycle. I’m in too vulnerable of a place to pretend like I can end it without getting rid of the ties that are causing me so much stress. It’s going to hurt, but starting today it seems like the least damaging alternative. The question is, would I owe any explanations or just letting go would do?
Posted on Saturday, 9 January 2010
