Writing is hard.
Writing about my feelings is harder.
But I write regardless. Because I don’t have anyone to talk to – at least, not anymore.
Not because of mistakes, but because it was never meant to be.
And while I knew it was never meant to be, I still find reasons to blame myself. For all the things I could have done, couldn’t have done, and could have prevented.
It’s a never-ending cycle of self-blame, a positive feedback loop that sends me spiralling down a rabbit hole.
I’m not writing to get back at anyone. If I was, I would have probably wrote this immediately when I was dropped kicked. Just like my idiot 2017-self.
And it’s been 2 months have passed since the initial dropkick, and 4 more consecutively. I’m much for rational now – I believe.
Though, I would say I’ve got a real talent of hitting rock bottom and still digging deeper. It’s as if I have a KPI for it.
While things have only gotten worse since the initial kick, I feel like I’ve only gotten better. Better at dealing with the shit in life.
Happy on the outside, dead on the inside.
At least with this experience, I’ve learned one thing.
You only have yourself.