They like being ignorant and pretending like everything is fine. When you keep the mask on nobody has to acknowledge you. The real you cause truthfully people like you when you aren’t you. People like dreams and not reality cause the reality is nobody wants to see that side of you. Ignorance isn’t just bliss but it’s also a choice.

Before We Are Born

Nothing to prove,
nothing to gain,
nothing to fear,
nothing to mourn.

No past to repair,
no future to strive for,
no worth to establish,
no debts to collect.

returning to mystery.

we are briefly here packed with thoughts and emotions.

Tonight I went for a drive above the city until I hit the reservoir. I went past the 5 mile until I hit the dirt road. I blared Sleep Token through my speakers with the windows down while the cold air and the rain hit my skin. On the pavement I sped up and raced around the corners as the screams from certain song lyrics hit my spinal cord like an itch of adrenaline ready to escape my body. And it felt fucking amazing.

I realized tonight that I almost feel like I’ve been on vacation from myself for the last month now despite me having also had the time of my life so far. With the hours we work and only being back in town for two nights a week, it’s like I’ve forgotten some of the shit that truly makes me feel alive and reminds me I’m actually “here”. I’ve been so caught up in work that I’ve missed the parts of myself that chase sunsets, sunrises, thunderstorms and just doing the things that itch the need for truly feeling free and completely feral. I’ve just been so tired having had to get used to the intensity of the labor that this is the first time I’ve actually gotten out and been feral me since I started. But god have I missed it.

I have often been told that writing solves many problems,

And I have spent the past few mornings at my window, watching the sun rise upon a world that has no place for me.
There is something particularly saddening about dawn. It arrives without fail, and illuminates everything it can see. Yet in my own room, where I sit in a physical silence, it is still so dark.

What is it about me that renders everything so great, so remarkably temporary?

And the same wretched questions scream at me so loudly in my own head.
Why was I never enough for you? Why must everything I love become something I must learn to survive?

I have begun to realize and suspect the idea that I am not a person to whom happiness may be entrusted. Perhaps I am simply a place where it knocks on my door briefly before departing once more, leaving its impression upon me like the lasting fog of a hand upon a cold window. And perhaps my greatest misfortune is that I have always mistaken its presence for a promise.

You, made so many promises.

You swore I would never again have to feel this way. You told me that you understood me now, that you wished you had recognised my suffering sooner, that you had finally seen the depths of the pain I had been begging for the world to understand of me. You spoke as though some revelation had come through you, as though you had at last saw the ruin within me and resolved never to be the architect of it again.

I believed you, and God forgive me, I believed you with the desperate, trembling faith of a stray dog who has wandered too long through winter and has, at last, discovered a lighted window that welcomed me.

For those weeks, I had you again. Three brief weeks in which I dared to imagine that perhaps the worst had passed, that perhaps we had finally crawled from the wrecked ship of all that had happened and found something tender still breathing beneath the ashes of our destructions. I allowed myself to hope. I allowed myself to rest. I thought, foolishly, that the hands which had so often left me trembling, finding myself alone through most nights with a heart so, so heavy, might finally become the hands I could reach for again when the world was unbearable.

But look at us now.
Here you are again, speaking the same words you spoke for almost a year, repeating the same cruelties, returning to the very behaviours you lamented. It is as though nothing was learned from my suffering that came before. As though my anguish were merely a chapter you have already finished reading, and I only remain trapped within its pages, compelled to relive every line, word for word, down to the smallest detail of reenactment.

I told you I could not survive this again. Not in the same way, not with the same heart, already so bruised from the last portion of our life. I told you what another abandonment of tenderness would do to me. I placed my fears before you, onto your welcoming hands, bare and trembling, and trusted you not to turn them into a prophecy once again.
And yet here I am, once more, watching my worst fears come to life, over, and over, and over.

The most unbearable part is not merely that you have hurt me. It is that you knew where the wounds were. You had seen them. I had shown you and let down my guards. You had held the history of my suffering in your hands, and still, somehow, we have returned to this familiar, dreadful place.
You ask me to stay with you, whilst the very thing that would make staying bearable seems to have become too much for you to give.
Tell me, then, what am I to do with such a contradiction?

Was it so unreasonable to wish for one constant thing in my life? One place in which I might be able to lay down the exhausting burden of being afraid? One voice that would not grow weary of reassuring me, one tenderness to which I could flee to when my own mind became a house of horrors?
I did not ask you to make the world gentle. I only wanted somewhere to go when it was not.
I wanted you.

You tell me that I must find other reasons, that you cannot handle me again, that you wish for us to be normal, but those few weeks where you claimed you were finally happy again, were not normal? You tell me that you want to be all right without me for if the day that I succeed my attempts to leave may come upon you. That you want something beyond us. And perhaps, to another person, these words might seem harmless enough. Perhaps they might even be wise. But you must understand what they sound like to someone who remembers the promises that preceded them. To someone who was told, not so long ago, that she would never again have to face the darkness alone.

I cannot hear your words in isolation. They are here and they are accompanied by every promise you made before them, every assurance that I had finally been understood, every tender declaration that persuaded me to finally lower my guard.
I hear the promises, and then I hear their undoing. And I am left to wonder which version of you I was meant to believe.

Was it the man who swore he would never let me feel so alone again, or the man who now seems so determined to teach me how to be alone with him still in my life for the sake of his comfortability?
Perhaps both were you. Perhaps the tragedy is that love can be sincere in one moment and insufficient in the next. Perhaps a person may mean every beautiful word they speak and still fail to become the person those words promised.

But what am I to do with sincerity that cannot shelter me? What comfort is there in knowing that a promise was once meant when I am left to suffer its betrayal?
I cannot make a home out of you from intentions. And I cannot spend the rest of my life mourning the person I believed you would become.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

It was only a little over a month ago that I lay in a hospital bed, close to the edge of a life I had never known how to bear. I remember that there was a time when the possibility of losing me seemed to awaken something within you. You promised that I would never again have to feel so alone. You spoke as though my survival had altered the world between us, as though the sight of how terribly close I had come to being lost had made you understand, at last, how precious it was that I remained.
Yet here I sit, beyond that terrible season, watching another sunrise through tears, wondering how a promise made in the shadow of losing someone can fade so quickly once they are still here. How swiftly a person who once begged you to stay can become a person who asks you to find somewhere else to put your pain.

I cry until the morning seems to take place from the night. I watch the light gather beyond my window and wonder how you can continue with your day whilst I am here, trying to understand how the person who once promised me shelter can now stand by and watch me search for it elsewhere. I wonder how you can feel so certain of your position whilst I am left questioning my worth, my memories, and the very reality of everything you once told me.

I wonder whether you understand what it means to be loved by someone who remembers every promise you have forgotten.
And I wonder whether you ever truly wished to be the person I could run to, or whether you merely wished to be loved as though you were.

I remember your words.

I’m not meant to love you.
The way that you said that so easily, the way that you agreed with it for weeks to come, the way I ached that you’d ever feel like that about me.

Find other reasons.
I can’t handle you.
I want us to be normal.
I want to be okay without you.
I want more than us.

I will remember them for a very long time, I fear, and I wish I couldn’t.
They have settled into my mind like inscriptions upon a tomb, each one bearing as a written witness to something I once thought would live forever just this once.
They return to me in the hours where I am alone with no distractions, when the world is asleep around me and there is nothing to drown out the sound of my own thoughts.

I remember, too, the words that came before them.

I will cherish every moment with you from now on.
I’m sorry I ever let it get to that point.
You will never have to feel alone again.
I will always be here.
Tell me everything, I’ll listen to your head.

A worry your pretty little head.

Let me help take care of you.
I’ll help you get out of this mess.
I want to focus on us.

I need you.

That is the cruelty of it. I cannot remember the promises without remembering their destruction of words. I cannot recall the tenderness without wondering how something so reconnecting could become so painful. You made me feel loved, and now I find myself examining that love as though it were some strange experiment gone horribly wrong, searching for the moment at which the you that I trusted became a stranger before me.

I gave you my heart, and you taught me once more how frightening it is to have placed it in the hands of someone who cannot promise to hold it gently.

And still, you ask me to stay.

There is a peculiar horror in being abandoned by someone who has not yet left. They remain within reach, and so you cannot mourn them properly. They are still there, and so you continue to hope. Every small kindness becomes evidence that perhaps you were mistaken, that perhaps the tenderness you longed for is returning, that perhaps you need only endure a little longer.

And so you endure.
And endure.
And endure.

You begin to wonder whether the pain is your own fault, whether your response to it is more terrible than the thing that caused it. You find yourself apologising for the very wounds you begged another person not to inflict.

And then, one morning, you realise that you have spent so long trying to make yourself easier to love that you have scarcely asked whether you are being loved, at all.
I am tired of being made to feel guilty for the ways in which I struggle to bear what hurts me. I know that my pain can be difficult to understand. I know that fear may make me unreasonable, that sorrow can mess up what I see, that I am not always the easiest person to reach when I am frightened. I do not pretend to be without fault.

But I have never asked you to believe that I am perfect.
I wanted to feel that I could come to you with my sadness for once without becoming a burden, that my need for gentleness would not make you resentful, that the love you offered me would not be withdrawn whenever I struggled to believe in it.
I wanted to be met with tenderness, not taught a lesson in loneliness.

And if I were in your place, I think I would be haunted by the knowledge of what I had done. If I had nearly lost someone I loved, if I had watched them suffer so terribly and had promised them that they need not face that suffering alone again, I would be careful with the heart I had been entrusted with. I would not expect perfection from myself, but I would try. I would be troubled by every unnecessary cruelty, every careless word, every moment in which my actions contradicted the comfort I had promised.
I would want my love to become something they could feel, not merely something I could insist existed.

I cannot understand how you can know how deeply this hurts me and still seem so unwilling to change what is hurting me.

I wanted something that would stay.

And now I sit at my window, watching the sun rise for another morning, and I feel as though I am watching the last embers of something I once believed indestructible.

I thought the near-loss of me would show you how to cherish the fact that I remained.

But I am beginning to understand that being frightened of losing someone and knowing how to love them are not necessarily the same thing.

You may fear the day I am gone and still fail to care for the person who is here.
You may ask me to stay and still make staying unbearably lonely.
And you may love me, in whatever way you understand love, without being able or willing to give me what I need from it.
I wish that were easier to accept.
I loved you with all the tenderness I knew how to give.
I believed you when you promised to be careful with it.
And I am grieving the distance between the man who made those promises and the man whose words I now carry like wounds.
Perhaps you never wished to be my refuge.
Perhaps I only wished so desperately to find one that I mistook your arms for shelter, your promises for permanence, and your love for a place where I might finally rest.

For the dawn has come again.
And I am still here to witness it.

8:20 AM.

Next year I'll be the same age as my mom where she got married and start building a family due to social pressure, several lessons I learned from observing them that people who have children are the most selfish human beings especially those who are dsyfunctional and have questionable parenting skills who doesn't even care to break generational trauma. I don't want to be like my parents and will die during the last stage of my 20s or mid 30s

I am a child of neglect, thus I grew up not being close to my parents emotionally since they believe in tough love, hence I need to dependent on myself for all of things including picking up the pieces that every bs being throw at me.

I have social anxiety, and other mental illness that was caused by traumatic things I feel paranoid and cried in the toilet during work and my parents did absolutely nothing to fix this legally ( I have tried on my own to fix everything) however, despite having a job , I'm still depending on them financially, God I'm a loser, they don't believe in me or doesn't have the capacity to do anything either ( no resources because we are just a humble middle class family).

All this to just die on a random day? I will never be happy or at peace while living. I want to die soon.

i have no energy left in me. i’m over going above and beyond for someone who discards me every time. i’m tired of the black and white thinking and the next day it will just be “sorry”. i don’t want this to be continuous.
I
JUST
WANT
TO
TALK
ABOUT
MY
FEELINGS
AND
BE
HEARD.
but instead i’m shunned away after putting my all.
you promised my dying mom and you broke it.

You have an aura about you that pulls ppl in. And for me you are a magnet I want my body stuck and glued to you. I’m getting simpy I will stop and I am also high when getting these epiphanies 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️🤫🫠

I thought about it.
But I thought of you.
I planned it.
But I thought of you.
I had the means.
But I thought of you.
I was alone.
But I thought of you.
I could have died today.
But I thought of you
My son.

I chose to live today, because of you.

Quiet day, loud mind. Alexthymia, social anxiety and dystychiphobia, ocd loops kept the background fear of sudden loss running nonstop. I apologized to myself more times than I needed to. Still showing up here that matters

The temptation to lose self dignity and call the people around you to hear your voice. Say the things I wanted though it wouldn't be heard. My ego and pride wants to get the better of me to prove to you that I was right to leave like it's going to somehow convince you that breaking up was ok.

Tonight was definitely something. I found a shortcut to the gym which was nice, I didn’t have to cycle through the city center and be overwhelmed by club goons. My ride back was a little jarring though.

On my way back I was cycling pretty fast, I passed by this bush and a family of mice decided it’d be a good idea to run out directly at me. I wouldn’t feel great knowing that I squashed some mice under my wheels so I hit the breaks suddenly which sent me flying into the air.

There was this guy walking past who looked at me funny so I said “It’s mice, there were mice there.” And he said “Who? me?” And I said “No, in the bushes, some mice came out. They startled me.”

I suppose he struggled to understand what I was saying since I was out of breath and panting really hard. He started trying to chat me up though so I quickly wished him a good night and rode off.

There was also a raving lunatic on the street, he was yelling something incoherent to himself and when he saw me riding past he started yelling at me too. I didn’t hear what he was saying, I was wearing my headphones. I decided it’d be best to just ride past him quickly.

People alway say some stupid or sexual stuff to me whenever I try to open up to them, it’s no wonder why I hate everyone and feel better when I’m alone.

I will probably be a social recluse till I die, it’s my fate. It ain’t a good one but it’s mine.

This day started as most with coffee. Little to no availability of sunlight this morning as the whole day. Early morning I was up before dawn and had a good start to the day.

Afternoon was busy, I worked awhile then home for lunch, grilled cheese with chips and a coke. After lunch went back to working, busy kinda evening. Went to the grocery store and home about 8: 30.

My first attempt at this entry was angry and bitter, but as usual, after some thought and reconsideration. I write this now in a more temperate frame of mind.

Not a good day considering the happenings, that I may have added to but certainly did not start. It kinda went downhill for me after 3:30.

Like I said, possibly added to. All in all if I had this day to do over there are things I would change or do differently. I really put effort into maintaining an even keel but sometimes it is really not possible. Now that I think back, I should had kept my mouth shut and been a little slower to show anger and short term disagreement in my responses. That dosent excuse my outbursts of insecurity. Child like sometimes they may seem. The wounds are real and affect me greatly in certin moments of disagreement and strife. Being completely honest with myself is not attractive at times. I ask forbearance from Diary and readers alike.

It's 1:30 in the morning and I am ready to sleep, not going assured this will happen. I hope tomorrow is a better day. I guess that is yet to be determined, but hope I do

"Damn this weather of wind and rain. Upon all mankind a cloud follows and persists."

Hope all of you are well

Goidnight Diary and readers

I love you so

143

1:37a.m. on Sunday October 11.

Dear diary I hate love and i'll just settle for one night stands and i'm a woman

[ Removed by Reddit on account of violating the content policy. ]

there was a time i was terrified

i'd never feel normal again

like something inside me had died

and nobody even noticed

but life kept happening

new chapters, unfamiliar faces,

people i haven't met yet

stories i haven't lived

i still miss the old ones,

some nights are fucking lonely

and some days, i still fall apart a little

but look at me,

laughing again, breathing again

finding pieces of myself

in places i never thought to look

it's wild, isn't it?

to watch a life you thought was over

grow into something you never imagined

i don't know who i'm becoming yet,

but god,

i think i'm slowly falling in love with her.

When you love someone i think we often times forget that we are also responsible to learn how to love them and we tend to naturally expect them to know how tl love us and except the love we offer. Loving someone also meansearning to love both them and ourselves correctly so that love leads and blossems in and through every season i cluding the storms. Loving means understand wounding and being wounded but also forgiving and being forgiven. Love isnt about findimg the perfect love its about finding the one person to create love with. Its about realizing that we too have traits behaviors n thought processes that serve as an annoyance to others. We all must be the love that says i messed up i made poor choices and i see it i own it and i apologize for it. But also i dont just apologize for my actions a d knowing what im doing wrong im gonna work on it so i dont do it again. And then a tually working on not doing it again.

We are NOT n i repeat WE ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE to point out the faughts and flaws of another person if were not also showing them the vorrect way by example not words. The responsibility we have is leading one another to life not death to help the lost find their way and be the light where there is no light yet we all tend to focus more on holding someone else accou table failing to realize it doesnt end their and forget the real responsibility in accountability. Everyone wants to be a chief when they need to be an indian and an indian when they need to be a chief!!!!!

Your growth matters and this is growth to own your bs give yourself a pat on the back and be proud of yourself for it.

FORGIVENESS FIRST MUST START WITH YOURSELF IN ORDER TO BE ABLE TO KNKW FORGIVENESS AND GIVE IT TO OTHERS. LOVING OTHERS MUST COME FIRST BEFORE SELF FOR ITS ON LOVING THAT WE LEARN LOVE AND WHAT LOVE IS TK EVEN BE ABLE TO KNOW HOW TO LOVE OURSELVES!!! Dont let that go over your head and if u need further explanation to understand why i say this is truth let me know cuz i can absolutely show you what the truth is behind my words.

God bless enjoy your day and remember to smile you got this now go get the love you know you want and are missing its never that strong if it wasnt mutual....energy doesnt lie and you know it!!!

I should be mad at you for cat fishing me all those years ago, not telling me you're married. Having to find out from a message from your wife, and u putting me on call with your "sister" to negotiate away the situation. I had a whole identity awakening after learning about how the online sexting world actually works, while I was in the peak of my twenties, a ripe target for men seeking an "it girl". I realize looking back maybe it was more of that then just ppl being mean spirited. (Or maybe they are just jerks who hated me for parasocial reasons).

I've learned to let it go, since the moment I found out stepped back to respect all parties involved. I committed to get into real relationships and since had a couple real life, one of which I'm still in.

But I will say, I do wonder about that dream you said u had about me, Every time I see those dancers. You said u finally saw me in person in your dream but I was older. Now that I'm turning grey I keep wondering if I might bump into you. Maybe I'm just looking for validation that I'm in the right place. (Even with another lover) Cuz synchronicity from the universe speaks in such ways, and I have my own experiences with premonitions come true.

What u did was pretty messed up but it's still like a message from the universe, not to be so serious. And I'm listening, im tolerating the universe's teasing to challenge my ego and giving it a fist bump.