Just got up after a 3 day bed binge.
During my haze, I thought – and dreamt – a lot about my past. If there were only a magic little pill I could take to rid of all the memories. The ones that have formed the constant knot in my stomach, the ones that keep me up at night, the ones the suck the life out of me day by day. I don’t know exactly why I have such an addiction of nailing bad things to my mind, but I do. Maybe I keep them as a reminder of my failures; of the people who have failed me. Perhaps it is a form of self harm. Whatever the reason, I seem to be unable to let things go. And it is slowly killing me.
Some days I feel good about it all, strong. I say to you, “I have overcome my past and am all patched up now.” Some days, I feel that way. But it isn’t the truth. The truth is, I am struggling with it all. Trying to come up with some answer to prove to myself that I am not my past mistakes … that I am good enough, worthy. That I will find someone who is accepting of me for ME. I don’t like to be this person, but I am this person … and to keep this side out of my blog, is to contradict everything I’ve written thus far.