Wednesday, 29 January 2020
29
I don't know why I write what I do. It's not that I don't feel that, but somehow, its also only the negative I tend to write about. I think, on some level, it's the writing it out, down, that gets it out of me. That either puts in to perspective, or puts a distance between me and 'it'.
Friday, 24 January 2020
Jan 2020
I'm getting used to the idea, of just playing a roll. Of not really mattering. Every once in a while there's a pang, an out burst of emotion. But that will fade. I must just play my part. Clean, fix, try be a good father.
There isn't much to write. Its all self pity and not understanding. I don't understand. I can scream against the wind but the wind will always win. There's not really much else to do when you one day realize that, deep within yourself. You just stop screaming. And it fades, slowly. "Yes ok." your standard response. "Ok I'll do it" a close second. No space for opinion, or a say in anything, simply because I don't understand. And its my fault. I'm not involved enough. And on that, maybe its true. But I don't know how to be. It feels strange to me. I struggle with it.
The amount of words, that have come out of me in the last 3 years. Uncountable. The amount of words, sentences, meaning, love, questions, asking for guidance...ignored? The exact same number. That's the self pity. Evil twisted little thing. Its not about me. Its not about sending mssgs and not getting a reply. Its not about doing things and not getting a thank you. Its not about trying and not getting recognition for it. Its not...about...me. Its not about expecting any of that, or getting it.
I drink. I drink too much. But somewhere in all this, it makes sense. 10 Am and I'm on my 4th whiskey, because it doesn't matter. I can still sleep this off, and get the things done that need to be done, and life will carry on. It doesn't matter that I asked how things are going, and got no answer. It doesn't matter that I also cared about today. I'm alone till 3 PM, I shouldn't expect anything till then. Its on me, I shouldn't have expectations. That's on me.
There isn't much to write. Its all self pity and not understanding. I don't understand. I can scream against the wind but the wind will always win. There's not really much else to do when you one day realize that, deep within yourself. You just stop screaming. And it fades, slowly. "Yes ok." your standard response. "Ok I'll do it" a close second. No space for opinion, or a say in anything, simply because I don't understand. And its my fault. I'm not involved enough. And on that, maybe its true. But I don't know how to be. It feels strange to me. I struggle with it.
The amount of words, that have come out of me in the last 3 years. Uncountable. The amount of words, sentences, meaning, love, questions, asking for guidance...ignored? The exact same number. That's the self pity. Evil twisted little thing. Its not about me. Its not about sending mssgs and not getting a reply. Its not about doing things and not getting a thank you. Its not about trying and not getting recognition for it. Its not...about...me. Its not about expecting any of that, or getting it.
I drink. I drink too much. But somewhere in all this, it makes sense. 10 Am and I'm on my 4th whiskey, because it doesn't matter. I can still sleep this off, and get the things done that need to be done, and life will carry on. It doesn't matter that I asked how things are going, and got no answer. It doesn't matter that I also cared about today. I'm alone till 3 PM, I shouldn't expect anything till then. Its on me, I shouldn't have expectations. That's on me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)