It’s the kind of pain that runs deeper than the physical. The kind that you can’t describe, but you know it’s there gnawing away at your soul. A cyclone of stirring inside a fallible, battered soul that wishes to break free of the bonds that imprison you. Yet, still wanting to run away, curl up, and cry like a baby.
I can’t remember the last time I truly cried. I want to believe it wasn’t my last breakup.
I want to believe it wasn’t during a movie I saw. That would be such a waste of a good cry.
I just…I really can’t grab hold of anything. The only thing that saves me from falling deeper into sadness is my belief that everything happens for a reason. Depression will not help me accomplish anything. Anger will only make me bitter. It will only make it harder to succeed.
I haven’t spoken about dressing or my bi-genderness-whatever-the-fuck lately. And for good reason. I haven’t had a chance to be identified as Ren in over a month. I don’t like complaining, and I frequently do not blog because now that people actually, you know, read this thing, I’d rather have something worthwhile to share than repeatedly bitching about how I can’t express my inner-most desires & self unabashedly.
Meanwhile, my Twitter is filled with humor and love. You should get an account and follow me. It’s fun times for real when you find people who like you for you.
Can you tell I’m trying to cope here? That I’m really trying to not give a fuck about what anyone thinks?
I have begun distancing myself from the noise on the internet in order to think more clearly and not be discouraged by my own circumstances. Frankly, I’m just tired of giving and giving and hearing about drama and love and pain. My feelings are too keen for my own good & it drives me mad when I get nothing in return.
No one [who loves me] to tell me I did a good thing.
No one [who loves me] to let me know that I’ve made their day.
No one [who loves me] to let me know it’s okay to cry.
I come and go daily, in my own world, without a single smile; no one in this house notices how desperately I am trying to survive as someone that isn’t fully me. How guilty I feel asking my friend for help with makeup, shopping, etc. when she doesn’t care for any of that stuff. How absolutely miserable I often feel despite putting on a tough, self-sufficient exterior.
…I wish someone would save me for once instead of me climbing out of my own hole every damn time.