i'm in a dark place. and i can't see my way out.
they say the third year is the toughest. imagine you're crossing a bridge on a foggy night. you can't see the end of the bridge, but the beginning is enough to have you believe that there is a new and exciting place on the other side. and all you have to do is start driving. now... imagine the middle of the bridge. you're surrounded by fog. you can't see where you've come or where you're going. all of the confidence that you had when you started is gone and you wanna turn back, but who knows... if you just go a little bit farther, maybe you won't feel as lost or you've just dug yourself deeper. it's a dark place.
i've found that i've lost myself. i've been trying so hard to keep myself, that i've almost forgotten who i am and where i wanted to go. i've been holding on so tight, i've been forgetting to breathe. and i feel like i'm dying. it hurts.
all of my old pleasures feel like chores and all of my chores are a constant reminder of how trifling and disgusting i am. i don't have time to eat or dream because i am so tired. so, all i've got now are 11 hour days, 6 days a week, and Sundays spent cleaning out my DVR but not my house, which would command more attention and physical exertion.
but i'm constantly getting wider. i barely eat, but because i barely move, i am steadfastly getting heavier. ah well... i'll just add it to my list of complaints which, thank God, is expanding faster than my waistline. maybe if i get rid of all of my joy, i shall come to appreciate the suffering, and isn't that what life is about? if i get used to it now, the idea of struggling will hopefully become second nature.
i used to be a happy person. and now i barely recognize myself. and if i've totally lost myself, what's the fucking point?? i've gotta get myself back. that way, when this is all over, we can have a huge party where happy me and her disfigured twin can laugh and cry and fight over whether i should have been more cutthroat or more appreciative of the moments where i slowly but surely became a philosopher of foggy futures.
i've found that i've lost myself. i've been trying so hard to keep myself, that i've almost forgotten who i am and where i wanted to go. i've been holding on so tight, i've been forgetting to breathe. and i feel like i'm dying. it hurts.
all of my old pleasures feel like chores and all of my chores are a constant reminder of how trifling and disgusting i am. i don't have time to eat or dream because i am so tired. so, all i've got now are 11 hour days, 6 days a week, and Sundays spent cleaning out my DVR but not my house, which would command more attention and physical exertion.
but i'm constantly getting wider. i barely eat, but because i barely move, i am steadfastly getting heavier. ah well... i'll just add it to my list of complaints which, thank God, is expanding faster than my waistline. maybe if i get rid of all of my joy, i shall come to appreciate the suffering, and isn't that what life is about? if i get used to it now, the idea of struggling will hopefully become second nature.
i used to be a happy person. and now i barely recognize myself. and if i've totally lost myself, what's the fucking point?? i've gotta get myself back. that way, when this is all over, we can have a huge party where happy me and her disfigured twin can laugh and cry and fight over whether i should have been more cutthroat or more appreciative of the moments where i slowly but surely became a philosopher of foggy futures.
