Taken from my journal:
sometimes my thoughts feel so removed and complex from the world around me that I feel burdened to share them.. i don’t want to have to explain a life long back story to be understood. even on paper they lack the nuance and depth of what i’m really thinking – i don’t think the words, but feel them – at the same time i have a need to send them off, put them out there.
to be robbed of joy is the worst thing a human can be, to despair to have to hope no promise.
please stop glorifying suicide. it’s insidious the pain that would put someone there but that doesn’t mean that they’re at peace now.. i wish I could say they were. I hope that they are because I hope that they were given a choice we don’t know, but to say that they are is to minimize, it’s a disservice – a cliche to make everyone else feel better that equally does nothing to help those who suffer with real mental illness.
real joy is in the soul. to see what looks like joy but to know the truth, is so deceptive.
so complex the human mind and emotions and frailty – what masks do i have – what walls do i put up – what is preventing my joy – what is hiding my soul?
