Only one near-panic attack today.
It's getting better, finally.
I really don't want another panic attack. I don't know if you can even imagine how much I don't want to have another. Not here, not where no one cares and no one knows and no one listens, where there's only people who bring it all about.
Choices
Sometimes, even when everything is falling apart around you, and there's a dark thing chasing you through the streets, you just don't want to run anymore. You don't want to hear the noise your shoes make as they pound the pavement. That's when you have to decide what to do- keep running, hide, or stop and face it all.
These Heroic Tales
Do heroes and heroines in novels and movies ever feel this way?
Like it's all too much. And the battle isn't over. But all you want to do is step back, let other people fight it. Or give up entirely.
It's not that you want to give up, per se. It's not that you want the enemy to rule. It's that you just don't want to fight anymore. You're scared, sad, and tired.
Does bravery ever leave them completely? As if a huge gust of wind has gone right through you and pulled everything out, scattering it all like leaves?
When the enemy has the treasure in their grip, what keeps the heroine fighting for it, no matter how impossible the task?
I've never fought any dragons or witches or armies. I don't know these answers.
But maybe I have. Maybe I have fought dragons and witches and armies in a different form.
Maybe heroes and heroines put one step in front of the other, like everyone else.
But I wish I had a real sword and was fighting a real dragon, no matter how big. I imagine it'd be a lot easier than this.
Like it's all too much. And the battle isn't over. But all you want to do is step back, let other people fight it. Or give up entirely.
It's not that you want to give up, per se. It's not that you want the enemy to rule. It's that you just don't want to fight anymore. You're scared, sad, and tired.
Does bravery ever leave them completely? As if a huge gust of wind has gone right through you and pulled everything out, scattering it all like leaves?
When the enemy has the treasure in their grip, what keeps the heroine fighting for it, no matter how impossible the task?
I've never fought any dragons or witches or armies. I don't know these answers.
But maybe I have. Maybe I have fought dragons and witches and armies in a different form.
Maybe heroes and heroines put one step in front of the other, like everyone else.
But I wish I had a real sword and was fighting a real dragon, no matter how big. I imagine it'd be a lot easier than this.
Telling The Silent Truth
Anger.
Release.
Relief.
Doubt.
Terror.
Anger.
Sadness
Self-Blame.
Terror.
Sadness.
Deep Breath.
Pride.
Determination.
Release.
Relief.
Doubt.
Terror.
Anger.
Sadness
Self-Blame.
Terror.
Sadness.
Deep Breath.
Pride.
Determination.
Fault
This is what this family does. We tear each other down with words, and then we ignore with silence that speaks volumes. And then we make it okay with money. We buy expensive gifts, we treat with take out. And all the way, we're digging each other a deeper hole that no one can refuse.
They say that you make your bed and you have to lie in it. But what if, while you're making your bed, someone hands you a blanket laced with spikes? One that you can't refuse, because if you do, they'll terrorize you as you lie in the bed you make?
Is it still your fault? Because you chose the poison that would kill you slowly, rather than the one that would off you right there?
Maybe.
I don't want to be like them. I don't want to turn out this sick way.
They say communication is a two way street. Same with so many other things. But what if one of them barricades both sides? What if they walk down one side, and as you try to say hi, they look past you like you're not even there?
What happens then? And who's fault is it?
What if one person is armed with guns and bombs, can you blame the other for not daring to speak? For not daring to attempt tearing down the barricades? For closing the doors on the street and holing up in the semi-safety of her own domain?
They say that you make your bed and you have to lie in it. But what if, while you're making your bed, someone hands you a blanket laced with spikes? One that you can't refuse, because if you do, they'll terrorize you as you lie in the bed you make?
Is it still your fault? Because you chose the poison that would kill you slowly, rather than the one that would off you right there?
Maybe.
I don't want to be like them. I don't want to turn out this sick way.
They say communication is a two way street. Same with so many other things. But what if one of them barricades both sides? What if they walk down one side, and as you try to say hi, they look past you like you're not even there?
What happens then? And who's fault is it?
What if one person is armed with guns and bombs, can you blame the other for not daring to speak? For not daring to attempt tearing down the barricades? For closing the doors on the street and holing up in the semi-safety of her own domain?
Speak
You walk around the house.
Why don't you talk to me?
You pass me in the halls.
Why won't you talk to me?
You ignore me in the kitchen.
Why shouldn't you talk to me?
You hand me my mail.
Why can't you talk to me?
You laugh along with her.
What will it take for you to talk to me?
Why don't you talk to me?
You pass me in the halls.
Why won't you talk to me?
You ignore me in the kitchen.
Why shouldn't you talk to me?
You hand me my mail.
Why can't you talk to me?
You laugh along with her.
What will it take for you to talk to me?
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