pixelated.me

it’s 2:30 am and i find myself pondering the nature of being a writer. to be far more truthful i find myself pondering my own nature. my tendencies, my subtle ways of hurting myself to feel alive. It is ironic that on the one hand i loathe the more obvious forms of self destructive tendencies i’ve observed in others. My siblings my ex-gf and yet tonight as i inched as close to putting the figurative needle back into my arm as i possible could without actually doing so i realized that i do it on purpose. I push these internal limits to see where that will take me. i allow myself to loath that part of me that wants to know the things that will only make it worse. I need more realism in my own life. I am dangerously close to falling back into a hole of vicarious living that almost killed me. I am struggling with a romantic in me that either needs to be falling in love or broken hearted. I crave that rush of connection. It has been a very long year indeed.