The jumble of emotions get so crazy sometimes I forget to breathe.
I still feel alone, and not in that way, I want to convince my brain there's a point in all of this, that we assign meanings to things also means things have no innate meaning and sometimes, sometimes my brain recognizes this first, and too fast, that the feeling is too visceral to deny or out-analyze.
I get the beauty of life and all that bullshit and the value of pain, but I'm just saying it's easier to talk about it when you're not in the middle of some pretty bad shit.
And I'm in the middle of some pretty bad shit. And the reason I can't talk about it is because when I hear myself talk I feel like someone asking for help.
And I need to hear myself as a strong person, at least for the coming days. I got this, I'm the (wo)man, I'm the girl with all the answers. Because after I pour my heart out, what's next? I still need to live through it, I still need to do things anyway.
For the record I hate my brain.