When you disappoint, it's only yourself that hurts

[eighty seven?]

I think the worst part about right now is I am doing this whole realisation bullshit that I think is not doing me much good, since it's just bringing me on down. I have realised today that I no longer enjoy reading, because I can't just pick up a book and read with my eyes, it has to be a huge fuss and on audio, and that takes out the joy of it. I can't internalize literature anymore, I can't breath it in through the pages, I can't do that anymore. I find it really disappointing.

I want to be alone, and I feel like I don't at the same time. I don't want to be alone, but I do. I want to be away from here, in some place new, where I can meet new people and hear their stories, because I feel like right now I'm not moving forward, I'm just sitting in one place, and no one else is moving either, and that's just as disappointing. I don't mind if I'm not moving, because I can sit back and watch everyone else go, but no one else is moving, because no one else is making progress, and that's just depressing.

I want to be away from everyone, but I want to be with myself. I don't want to think about anything or anyone, that's the only way that I can think of to describe it. I don't want anyone to know my thoughts or feelings, and so I put on this mask, and I tell tidbits, but my mind feels like it is unravelling, and I think that that is because I have nothing to look at, literally.

I want my literature back, I want my life back. I want to prosper in goodness and surround myself with people. I want to be surrounded by positivity and here is just not the right place at all for that, that's just about as rare as sober saturday nights.

I want to break free.

I think that's why I'm actually going to endure the pain, and suck it up, and get the damn ink on my arm done in May, because I know that there needs to be something to bring me back down, as I feel like I am a balloon that some little kid let go of by accident. That little kid isn't so little, and he loves fishing and skateboarding, and he used to love me, but he let go of his string. It sometimes feels like he cries and yells after me, and other times it feels like he's already bought a new one. I want to come back down, but the only way to do that is to have someone pop the air outta my plastic.

And the tattoo's gonna do that, hopefully.

But right now I'm going down, downhill, and everything's striking me as something old, something used, something I've seen before. I'm sick of routine, I want my old Sunday-revolving routine back, I want my life back. I want a new life more though, and I'm striving to be alright. Baby, why can't I have you? There's an eighties song on my itunes right now, seriously, it said that. I think it's rather appropriate, and ultimately, disappointing.

Stress breaks me down as if blown by a little pig,
but I am chased by the wolf, looking for me,
and tortured by this, I build my houses of sticks
and bricks
but still the wind breaks me down.

Again, my poetry is absolutely awful, but it helps me sometimes.

Have a lovely night,

Jess :]