Crazy About Words

Rant, Unnumbered

All I want is the ability to put those thoughts and feelings into simple sentences.
A form of expression, A way to let go, A psychological relief.
My notebook, my diary, my best friend, my getaway and my source of freedom. Break those chains, untie my heart. Teach me how to be me. Guide me to my soul. Show me how to listen to it.
But even that, I lost. And what am I if I feel like my soul is forever trapped in a lost cage?
Happiness is always temporary. Even when it’s there, something always seems to be missing.

And I know I wrote this hundreds of times, and I know I keep saying it over and over again. But I am sick of this, I am truly sick of this and I don’t know what to do.
I don’t want to run away anonymously and I don’t want to pathetically spill my heart out to a blank page that no one will ever bother to look at in a million years. And I don’t want to crawl under my blanket and cry my heart out, I don’t want to be miserable and I don’t want to be addicted to this depression. I don’t want to live in the past. I don’t want to feel broken and I don’t want anybody fixing me. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life trying to put back the pieces together. I don’t want my dreams to hunt me forever, and I don’t want to be insomniac for the rest of my life.

I am sick of feeling like my sadness will explode right through me and fill this world. I am sick of this overwhelming pain I feel in my heart. I can’t carry this weight on my shoulders nor on my chest anymore. I am sick of always feeling like someone is sucking the oxygen out of my lungs.

And quite frankly, I don’t know what I want.