It hurts. It feels like my insides want to come out regardless of what I want. It hurts and I know it will pass. For right now it hurts.
My earliest memories are accompanied by sorrow. I don't know if it will ever feel better when the memories come to mind. I've lived with these thoughts and I know they've begun to catch up to me. I think people can see them, my demons. I don't hide them, they just remind me of this ever lasting sadness.
I'm a writer or at least I use to be. I thought I was good but then why did I stop. One day he tore them up and threw them away. He told me that I would never be good for anything, especially not writing. I apologize pen and paper for leaving you the way I did. You kept me alive when I really just wanted to die.
I use to be a poet. You could feel my words in your soul. I use to write a lot and now I don't.
Today I found out that my family doesn't love me. I don't know what everyone's definition of love is. I know love and its so fucking beautiful. I felt it raw the day my son was born. I know they'll all show up at my funeral. I know when he dies, they will all try to console me. Right now, not all of them but many of them hate me. I feel that, I've felt that often and I no longer care to know why. Why has been irrelevant for a long time. I've been molested and raped by my own blood and I've forgiven them. no, I don't care for their hate. I could have hated too but instead I love them. I still do, that won't change.
What will change is how I treat them. What has changed is that now I understand why I've been left out of so much in the past 2 years. It hurts because I've wanted my son, our next generation to spend time with them. I know better now. I've been begging for affection that was never meant to come my way.
I sit here and feel lonely but just for this moment. I know love and its so beautiful, its worth dying for and I can't let their hate for me put me down. I allowed myself to feel it and I hope I never feel it again.
My earliest memories are accompanied by sorrow. I don't know if it will ever feel better when the memories come to mind. I've lived with these thoughts and I know they've begun to catch up to me. I think people can see them, my demons. I don't hide them, they just remind me of this ever lasting sadness.
I'm a writer or at least I use to be. I thought I was good but then why did I stop. One day he tore them up and threw them away. He told me that I would never be good for anything, especially not writing. I apologize pen and paper for leaving you the way I did. You kept me alive when I really just wanted to die.
I use to be a poet. You could feel my words in your soul. I use to write a lot and now I don't.
Today I found out that my family doesn't love me. I don't know what everyone's definition of love is. I know love and its so fucking beautiful. I felt it raw the day my son was born. I know they'll all show up at my funeral. I know when he dies, they will all try to console me. Right now, not all of them but many of them hate me. I feel that, I've felt that often and I no longer care to know why. Why has been irrelevant for a long time. I've been molested and raped by my own blood and I've forgiven them. no, I don't care for their hate. I could have hated too but instead I love them. I still do, that won't change.
What will change is how I treat them. What has changed is that now I understand why I've been left out of so much in the past 2 years. It hurts because I've wanted my son, our next generation to spend time with them. I know better now. I've been begging for affection that was never meant to come my way.
I sit here and feel lonely but just for this moment. I know love and its so beautiful, its worth dying for and I can't let their hate for me put me down. I allowed myself to feel it and I hope I never feel it again.
