Keeping track of my thoughts is seemingly difficult for me. They flutter by like butterflies.
I get a glimpse of beauty and wonder, and within seconds or minutes it’s gone.
Completely out of sight, but never out of mind. I try my hardest to remember, alas, I never can.
Don’t write your story to be a tragedy.
Write it to be a glorious, wonderful adventure, in which you learnt something everyday.
Pursue what you’re passionate about and do it well. Exhaust your energy into what makes you happy.
Never, ever rely on someone else for your happiness, or you most certainly will be writing a tragic story, and quite frankly, is that how you want to be remembered?
As a person who sat around doing nothing about their life? Do you really want to stand there idle while life passes you by?
You’ve got nothing to lose, chase your dreams.
She wanted to get lost within him, and vice versa.
She wanted to feel the passion of their lips touching and tongues dancing.
She wanted to touch every inch of his smooth skin.
Alas, he was an untouchable.
Out of reach, just ever so slightly.
There’s beauty in the break downs.
There’s smiles among many frowns.
There’s silver linings amongst the mess.
There’s moments of clarity after all the stress.
There’s erratic behaviour and mood swings.
There’s way to learn how to fix these things.
I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, but I’m slipping. Slowly slipping into the ultimate depths of depression. My mind wanders to a life for everyone where I am not present. How blissful it would be for them. It’s funny how small events can cause you to completely lose your shit when you’ve got bipolar. I just can’t seem to get over things. They play on my mind and twist the memories in such a negative manner that I often feel myself breaking down into tears. I’m at the point where I’m neglecting myself and my health – because I honestly believe I am a burden to everyone that comes into contact with me. I know I’m doing a lot of things wrong, but I’m also doing a lot of things right. I try my hardest to combat agoraphobia every day. I do art therapy and craft and gardening to put my panic disorder at ease. But bipolar is a whole different ball park, it seems. Once you’re in an episode, it feels though it’s impossible to get of. And that’s exactly how I feel. I wake up every morning and I either feel nothing at all, or I feel crippling sadness. I just want to fucking feel something. So my mind wanders to places of self harm – there’s something about punching a brick wall and seeing the blood trickle from my knuckles afterwards that makes me feel better. But I resist for my future self’s sake.
I just want to feel something again.
She was an actress.
Forever putting on a smile and act happy to let others believe exactly what they wanted to believe; that she was happy.
So this actress did what she did best and made everyone around her feel okay to the best of her ability, all the while neglecting herself entirely.
But armed with a smile and a giggle that’d charm anyone.
You see, this was her only defense against her disorders.
If she listened to herself – all she would hear is “I’m dead inside.” So she continued to act. And would probably continue to do so for the rest of her life.
I don’t know what it is that is making me want to escape this life so terribly badly.
I wish I could have some explanation, any explanation, as to why I can’t just get better.
I’m pumped full of drugs and counselled and still, can’t stop thinking that I am absolutely nothing.
A waste of a life. A burden. A fuck up.