If I can’t break out now, the time just won’t come





everything is too hard right now. i have no ambition, no joy, no desire to get up and move around and engage with life.

i’m tired of fighting, of struggling, of pushing against the idea that doing what my heart directs me to do will keep me forevermore poor and needy. i’m tired of every year being an onerous stretch of disappointment and struggle. this is the Modern World, and i’ve lost all my spirit.



so this is what it’s become

i am so fucking done


i can’t talk to pretty much anyone. everyone wants or needs that fake face, the look of “of course i have everything together and nothing’s wrong” because having issues means that you’re making it more difficult for the rest of the world, who is also struggling. i get it, i do. i know that no one wants more on their plate to worry about. and i don’t want it on my plate that i’ve worried them. stalemate. i’ll keep quiet. and no, no one’s said that i should shut up. but i’m not a kid, i know how the world works. no one wants to hear my whining, everyone else has it hard, too.


and then there’s that worry that i’m making it “all about me.” 

because humans are intrinsically selfish

because i’m an only child with no kids so of course i make it all about myself

because i’m a fucking crybaby 

because my only options seem to be bleed for everyone else or be an egomaniac

because my brainweasels lie and i have no sense of proportion anymore


i am broken, broken, broken. something must break, and that something is me.



I write, as openly as possible, about my experiences with life, love, creativity, depression and not-depression. I share opinions. I promote compassion and change. I talk about music. I also write poetry and short stories. I like to share them here.

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