I never was perfect, you know. Quite the opposite, really. The epitome of imperfection, that's me. Nobody would ever mistake me for anything else. I try to change that, though. I really do. I try and dress like maybe I know what I'm doing. I do my makeup like maybe I have something to be confident about. I don't.
I rely on my writing to get me through the hard times. But what happens when hard times are all times, and my pencils are all broken or gone? Will I just waste away with all the emotion? I'm only human - only someone who uses words to take the pain away, and words run out, run dry.
Do you ever think that friends are both the best and the worst things for our mental well-being? Really. We use them to build ourselves up, pedestals for our self-worth. But then they remove themselves from our lives, and by then we've lost the muscles that let us stand without the crutch of their support. So we fall, and stay fallen, until some other friend comes along and starts the cycle over again. How truly self-defeating.
But isn't life just a cycle of that same pointless self-defeat? We let our thoughts dictate who we are, and the people we brush up against dictate our thoughts, and they all too often say we're worthless. Will we ever break away from this downward turning wheel we're tied to?
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