The end is not nigh.
24 hours can be a lifetime– or it can be no time at all. It all depends. Life can be forgiving or it can hurt you so much you can hardly stand it. Everything is a matter of your ability to process actions, moments, and memories. I’d be remiss to say that some of it comes to a strength in your inner core. But, am I weak because thoughts of not wanting to be a part of this shit anymore plague me? Am I? Sometimes I feel stronger than everybody– because I can pray on the weak. Manipulation. It’s a weapon. Maybe, that is also a glass wall that I put up to prevent the invasion of toxic demons. I don’t know. Every day is a struggle. I don’t know who I will be when I wake up. I mean this in a totally non-schizophrenic way. I don’t hear voices or think that I earned a role on “the United States of Tara.” However, I do sometimes arise from my seemingly eternal slumber in a state of confusion and cloudiness. It scares me. I’m coping with more than is probably healthy for my tiny shoulders. True, I made choices and decisions that dragged me into the depths of Hell. I DID THEM. No blame can be placed upon anyone but me. The thing is– placing blame on someone else, does not change a fucking thing. This is my reality. This is now my future. I can accept it, but not reverse it. And yes, I have images of my life ending, but what does that prove? What message does that send? I harbor no ill will towards most– but I’m not a fan of selfish people. I refuse to be one of them. I am special and important to some. So, keep throwing shit my way, life– and I’ll keep battling it.. Good fucking luck destroying me.