death calls

the thing about loneliness, sadness, or depression is that no one hears it as loud as you. when you complain on the internet or cry out for attention or generally start behaving differently, people can't help but either not take you seriously, take you too seriously, or make it about themselves.

sometimes people have so many issues on their own they can't handle to bear yours too. so much that they can't even be there for you or listen. and it's such an intangible thing that i've never directly told anyone how i feel because i feel silly. i know how great i have things, even through the shitty things. i'm not an idiot. i know what other people are going through on this hellish plane.

maybe i shouldn't complain on the internet. or at all. it's not so much complaining as much as it feels like self-pity. i don't know what's worse. maybe i should shut the fuck up and do it already. i almost wish i could so that i could stop this loathing feeling that i benefit no one else's life and that everyone is better off without me in it. the thing is that i know i can't. i know i wouldn't.

not only am i partially superstitious of what happens to people who do it themselves, but i also know that i came here for more. my purpose is bigger than me or even my relationships, and i feel compelled to remain in this hell until i figure out my purpose wholly and overcome the demons that creep upon my shoulders. when i have too much time to think, when i'm feeling rejection from everyone, when i'm feeling ignored and unloved, and so on.

i think about self-love a lot. i read about it a lot. i've been writing about it a lot. sometimes it feels worthless and pointless. it's potentially the heaviest struggle i've dealt with emotionally. it's a lot of pressure and a lot of self-criticism in the beginning and even the middle. there is no end as this is constant work. i either think i'm not loving myself right or enough. nothing is ever enough.

if i'm not ever enough for myself how can i ever be enough for someone else, or trust that i am? how can i be whole enough to not use a relationship to fill in the gaps of the gaping hole i feel in my chest at times? i'm not even sure it's an emptiness i feel; it's more like an overflowing of constant energy i have nothing to do with. even when i can think of plenty of hobbies or ideas to pour that energy into, there is the shadow of lack waiting for me to arrive, arms wide open. lacks arms seem much more welcoming than loves at times.

not enough resources.

not enough time.

not enough energy.

not enough patience.

not enough.

not enough.

not enough.

how can i ever receive more if i am stuck to "not enough?"

how can i receive love if i can not give it to myself?

how can i expect to love me, flaws and all, if i self-analyze myself to paralysis?

how can i ignore the cement that dries around my ankles long enough for it to fall off so i can get moving?

i work for the day that other's thoughts, words, behavior will not affect my being. the irony being that they are affecting me as i type this. i work for the day they will not dictate my emotional wellbeing. i work for emotional freedom from others and even myself. i allow the feelings to come and go. at the very least they do not completely control me, if only enough to make me feel 'depressed.' sometimes i am so suffocated by fear and all the other stifling air that creates this fury... that it leads me to all other kinds of feelings like resentment and the urge to push everyone away forever.

i don't "have depression." i refuse to own that. i own a dark part. i own the shadow. i own this work, but i refuse to become part of that world. this is not an illness. this is a journey of self-discovery and acceptance. i am merely the clay in my life's work. i am part of my life's work. this is temporary, and for that i am grateful.

the truth is i am seeking death, but not the physical kind. and unfortunately sometimes it feels as though the physical death is the only one that is promised.