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Today I am ready to let go.

I no longer wish for any of our past.

The relief rushes through me, washing away all the regret, the guilt and the pain.

And while I will always remember, my heart is ready to forget. 

We were yellow. But like the moon must rise, the sun must set.

I bid you farewell, my lover, my friend. I hope that one day, you will find her again.

Sleeping away the sickness

The cuts. The belchings of guilty pleasure into the toilet bowls. The gunshots to the head. The hangings. The suicides.

Cries for help.

The pills. The needles. The medication.

Being helped.

The rehabs and the hospitals. The doctors and the therapists. 

Hoping someone else can fix it.

Sitting in the second row of the church. All in black. Crying. Watching them carry your friend in a box. Knowing that there will be no more hellos. One big goodbye.

Realising that there is no one who can help you but yourself.

Lying in bed while the sun rises. Still in bed when the sun sets. 

It's avoiding the world. 
But you're still allowed to breathe.

The do-not-disturb sign on the kitchen door

Everything is so false; the people, the conversation. 

It's all an endless, mundane routine and its absolute bullshit. It's a pathetic existence and we all know it. 

So we hide it with shits and giggles and hope to God that if we pretend we're happy the laughter will begin to sound real. 

But it never does.

And so we are driven deeper into our insanity, forcing ourselves to push through it all, because, who knows, maybe it will all be worth it in the end. 

Because then, at least, we can say that we tried.

At The Edge

It was no so much what had been said but how it had been said; it was an accusation, it was insulting and it was inappropriate. It cut me like a blunt knife that has to be twisted and pushed twice as hard to achieve the desired effect.

He had expressed a quiet cruelty; his words would appear harmless to everyone else but would pound in my head with a lethal ringing for days to come.

An anger began to fuel in my gut. How dare he? After everything that I have put up with, how fucking dare he?

I needed a push, and those delicate words were enough to tip me ever so slightly forward so that I found myself leaning dangerously close to the edge without knowing how I got there.

And then I jumped. Plunging head first into it all, my destination was blurred. Just as suddenly as it had come, it went, and I found myself standing on another cliff.

Do I jump again, or do I walk away?

Jumping appears to be the more adventurous choice; I would be considered brave for even attempting it. Walking away is the easy way out. 

Or is it?

Have I fooled myself into believing that he is the mysterious parachute that appears, ready to catch me, after every fall. Or do I invent this parachute, unkowkingly protecting myself?

Letting yourself go to avoid taking a stand deserves no congratulation. It invites pity from the very same people you worship. But walking away from something that is no good takes strength.

I cannot walk. But I cannot jump either.

So today, you will find me walking to the edge. And there I will stand, looking over, in a contsant battle with myself, not wanting to jump but knowing that I will never be able to completely let go.
 I guess when I feel so unsure about myself, I start to succumb to everyone elses's views about who I am or who I should be. 

When people say things about me that a confident person would be able to ignore, I start to obsess about it. I feel like I have to change who I am to be accepted by people I thought already accepted me. 

But when I find myself quietly defending whatever they are saying, I start to realise that I really do know who I am. If people cannot see that, then is it really my responsibility to make them?

I live with the hope that people will see me for who I am and not who they think I should be but I guess not everyone will. I can be okay with that. I am not going to change who I am to fufill someone else's need.

I am not perfect, but I am me.