The Lies We Tell Ourselves

“I want someone to see me for me, not as something broken, in need of fixing. Cause if we are being honest. . . No one is completely whole.”

I will write and write

Until my hands are raw

Until they are bleeding with the truth that I cannot deny

It never looks the same to others as it does to me

They see a hobby

I see a method of survival

Preservation

I am okay

I repeat those three words over and over

If I say it enough it will be real

Right?

I choose to not figure out the answer

The definition of insanity is to do the same thing

Over and over again

Expecting a different result

I am literally insane

What do I do instead of dealing with the emotional baggage

Instead of sitting down and talking it out

Instead of trying to move forward with my life

Instead of trying to do anything differently

I just do the same thing

Go through day after day

Trying to find a purpose

But at the end of it all

It is not worth it

If we truthfully think that the next step to life after death is

Oblivion

Nothing

You are just a forgotten memory

Than what is the point of a life of pain

A life where we try to fight for a future

Why do we try to climb so high

Thinking that if we are popular enough

Rich enough

Loved enough

Death is conquered

If we are just a memory, aren't all of us just broken with no hope

No way to be fixed