I Don’t Want To See The Truth

Why do I do this to myself?
What do I want to accomplish with the breaking down of me?
When will I know that I’ve had enough?
Will it be when I suddenly I can’t breathe?
Or will it be when I can no longer run?
Will it stop me before I collapse?
Or will it send me into a lifelong relapse?
Because I have not seen the signs that I shouldn’t destroy myself further,
And I am missing what I wanted to prove,
When I began this tribute to the things I no longer want to do.
I should be confident in my choice to quit,
All that I am currently struggling with,
In an effort to make my life more easy,
And to finally do the things that please me.
But what if it’s true that I currently like the things I do?
What if I am alright with destroying myself slowly?
And what if I want to progress no further?
What if I am the person that I was meant to be?
And what if this is all I can truly pursue?
What if I have finally peaked?
And what if this is where I was meant to be?
I am afraid of the consequence of not giving a shit,
And that I have destroyed all the traits I was happily born with.
I am constantly disappointed in me,
And I am seeking no form of positive relief,
Since I might actually believe,
That I am less than I ever thought I could be,
And that I should give up on everything I once tried to see.
How did I arrive at a conclusion so disappointing?
And how can I justify continue waiting?
How are these the habits I have learned to practice?
And how can I see more than what I lack?
How am I going to continue moving on?
Since how I am currently moving is all wrong.
I can feel it in the aching of my body,
I can see it in the mind that I have wasted,
I can see it in the soul over which I have become complacent.
There is evidence in the words I speak,
And the secrets that I insist I keep.
There is truth in my actions,
And there is time to discover my passions.
Since I am still learning how to live,
And what it is I want to give,
To this life of my own creating,
To counterbalance the pain of another’s making.
Who says I am not allowed to choose?
Who claimed that I have been suffering from abuse?
Who is it that said I would be better off dead?
Because who else has the right to claim my thoughts?
Other than the who I am striving to put off?
I am the only one with the right to claim,
That I have driven myself insane.

I Have So Many Questions

How did I get here?
And how did I not recognize that this was happening?
How could I stare down change with such denial?
And how could I not be prepared for this?
What was I looking for when I found this?
And why was I looking in the first place?
Who was searching with me?
And could anyone actually be searching for me?
Or was I always just searching?
And did I stumble into this?
Is this a fall or a step?
Did I mean to place my foot there?
Was there something greater calling my name?
And did I just refuse to listen?
Or is this that great calling?
Can this be the opening that I have been looking for?
And can the me I am at this moment be the one I was meant to be?
Who am I?
Where am I?
How did I get here?
And what do I do now?

A State Of Denial

I can’t.
I won’t.
I’m a fake and I don’t,
Want to be put on display for others to see
The truth,
The root,
Of everything I be.

Because underneath the facade,
And in that deathly pause,
That allows me to slip and begin to lose my grip,
I struggle to avoid an image that is devoid,
Of strength and wisdom,
And beauty and inquivitism.
All that is left and all that I hold against my chest,
Is the image of girl —
One who is weak and one who has a bleak,
Outlook on life and is best friends with strife.
I see a girl who’s dissatisfies and one who waits until the night to cry,
And admit that she is weak and that it is a struggle to keep,
The smile on her face and her feet in a place,
That feels like her own,
A place that she knows to be home.
Because home cannot be found when I am so far removed from the ground,
So removed from the the grind and the pound,
That makes life a puzzle with value to be found.

If I were to be true,
And if I were to be true with you,
I would admit that this is not a haunting of the past,
And nothing that will pass.
And if I were you,
I would run,
because it is not your issue.

I should.
I could.
But I don’t.
And I won’t,
I am only human.


If I’m being completely honest with myself: I would admit that I have a smoking problem that it is killing me slowly; I would see that smoking is getting in the way of other things I want to accomplish and making me lose motivation for things I once cared about; I would see that I am too hard on myself because I take the easy way out in many situations and I know I can do better; I would admit that I am lost at this point in my life and I’m not quite sure what to do with myself anymore and if I really even see value in myself anymore. I would admit that I am caught in a complex of my own creation and that I am my own worst and best partner for progress. I take ten steps forward in one day, and lose all of them the next. I remind myself that I am spoiled and that’s the only reason I created this complex, because I am bored and not willing to put down my vices and put in the work the way I used to. I almost feel as if I worked hard enough in my youth so it gives me a free pass to fuck off now. But that’s not the case. I have seen my progress slip away just as easily as my health and I convince myself that I can’t be bothered to deal with what life just hands me. I used to have motivation and determination before I discovered what a release intoxication is. But I don’t think it is a release for me any longer. I know that it is hurting me more than it is helping and I keep lying to myself everyday in spite of it. Part of me thinks I don’t deserve a happy healthy life, but the larger part of me knows that I have just been too lazy to pursue it lately. I am lost and have been for so long that I can think of no other way to live. I like having the excuse that I can’t do any better because it was not laid out for me in life. I long the path that is just handed to me and one where I don’t have to truly work at anything. I have convinced myself that it is alright that I am under achieving because I spent so much of my youth trying to over shoot all goals. I had to teach myself how to be less of a perfectionist and somewhere along the way I lost track of what it was like to be like that in the first place. I’ve allowed the images of my past to haunt my future and remind me of what could have been and what I never worked to obtain. I trust myself, but do not trust that I always make the right decisions when they are difficult. I don’t know who I am anymore and I am trying desperately to rediscover that, but allow the influences and opinions of others to derail me. I thought I was on the path to happiness by doing yoga, writing, and learning to do less harm to myself. I thought that because my health has improved and I have not had a vomiting attack that I was actually making progress. I looked back at where I came from though and am ashamed of where I started from versus where I am today. I allow the disappointment in myself from the past taint my future and never truly forgive myself for my past transgressions. Thoughts, words, and actions that I regret linger with me for years and I apologize to others for my selfish actions before they ever even take place. I know that there are those who admire me for what I have done in life, and at moments I can find a way to admire myself, but that is easily forgotten again in the face of another inevitable mistake that I’ve made because I’m only human. I expect so much out of myself that I know I will never be satisfied, but I also know that that shouldn’t stop me from trying. I have tried to rationalize with myself and lower the standards I am held to, but in the end my mind wanders further than I am willing to make my body go and I set expectations that i know I can never reach. I find comfort in being a failure somehow. Always succeeding in my youth set me up for impossible expectations and there was always a piece of me that wanted to be the child who fucked their life up and was infamous among my classmates for breaking all the rules. I was such a rule follower, trusting in the words and decisions of others to get me to the right place in the end. But as I grew older, I realized that those people I had trusted were just making it up as they went along. I trusted in the ideas and words of others to fulfill me and as I grow older I realize that they never will. I am attempting to blaze my own path now, but I have no standards to set it against and I have no idea where I am headed. I keep telling myself to trust in my gut, but my gut has been so angry and violent for years that I am no longer sure if it is really a friend I want to hold close. I have trouble trusting myself at all until I go to share advice with others and they seem to accept my words warmly and with deep thought. There are few who I trust to speak the truth to me, but there are many who I am trusted by for speaking the truth. The image others hold of me is foreign and imaginary in my mind, and it is hard for me to fathom the image of the older sister which my younger sister praises and looks up to. I receive admiration from others, but it never sinks in completely and I am always there to doubt their kind and supportive words before they can get under my surface. I could be doing so much more in life, and I know that despite what others have already applauded me on accomplishing. I am a lazy piece of shit and I have been telling myself that for so many years that I have actually come to believe it. I see no chance of redemption and I never give myself the opportunity to truly be redeemed. I work hard and try to appease myself, but in the end it is never good enough. I want the impossible and I will never be satisfied until no one on this earth has a single bad opinion about me expect for myself. And even then I will hold my inner criticism dear despite being exponentially outnumbered. There could be a million yaysayers in my life and I will still stubbornly be the only naysayer left. I cannot seem to forgive myself for something, and I cannot figure out what it is. Until I do though I know that I will never truly love and support myself. I rely upon others to do that for me so that I can continue beating myself down in opposition to their support. I truly don’t know what is so detestable that I do not want to remember or forgive myself for, but I know that there is something deep in my soul that will not allow me to rest until I pay it the attention it needs. But I am not ready for that. Instead I hold the hate like a close friend and refuse to let that familiar part of me go. Who would I be without hate? And who would I become if I only saw love? I am terrified of taking that leap and losing all sense of who I am.