If I can handle other failures, I don’t believe I can’t get over this.
A matter of time, I hope.
Most people carry that pain around inside them their whole lives, until they kill the pain by other means, or until it kills them. But you, my friends, you found another way: a way to use the pain. To burn it as fuel, for light and warmth. You have learned to break the world that has tried to break you.
Myself has broken up with myself. That it is a metaphor for where I am. That I am ready to love, ready to be myself, but I can’t help feeling abandoned. I’m trying not to solder these three themes, but consider it part of living. I have friends, people that love me. For this I am nothing short of thankful. I am sick of thinking Am I being myself?, the lies of waiting for these ‘options’ or ‘experiences’ that will never come because we are in love with our hyper-nearsightedness, this insidedness, this frosted glass cataract to other people. The biggest lie after the postmodernism rager that we are forced to clean up is that we are so inalienably alone, that we are so unique, special, unable to be understood. When all we need is in front of us in the everyday – unmissable — bullet casings in sand.
- Thought Catalogue
