Hello,
Gosh, I hate starting posts like this. But right now, I'm not in a good place.
I feel like I'm on a tight rope and one false step will make me fall quicker than normal. The tightrope gets harder to walk on everyday and sometimes I just feel like falling.
Lately, it's been like I've walked into chaos. I came into MW to get away but I find losing my control of my emotions and I feel like I’ve isolated more people this month than I have previously. Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong anywhere, even on MW and in real life. I’ve screwed countless of times and I’m tired of doing so.
My path and spirituality has been stagnating and I feel that I will lose control and get upset. I know I question a lot, which has upset some people, and I should apologize for it but it’s how I learn.
I guess what I most hate to feel is that I have a need to please everybody all the time. I’m so afraid of people hating me that I worry about it all the time. Lately, it’s come to a point where I hate replying to posts anymore because I don’t want people to hate me. I try to be respectful but I’ve been pushed and sometimes I snap.
I know I shouldn’t care, and a part of me doesn’t, but I can’t help but be afraid that I will lose friendships because I can’t keep my trap shut. It’s the same fear that keeps me within the routines that dominate my life. I have to get up at a certain time, do things at certain times, and have everything perfect because if it’s changed and something happens, it’s my fault.
I feel like everything I am is falling apart but I don’t know how it’s going to pierce itself back together again.
Gosh, I feel like this is filled with whining. I hate being emotional sometimes.
- Location:Home
- Mood:
hot - Music:TV - L&O: SVU
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
- Mood:
annoyed
