Oh goodie. I might give name to some of them, I may not. All of these are really short, though. I’ll just separate them with tildes.
(If, by any chance, you’re a newcomer to this blog, don’t take this post as any sort of example of my writing; it’s more just a random compilation of things scratched down at random times, which, really, probably shouldn’t even be posted at all. Whatever. Better than just deleting or getting rid of them, I guess.)
Pain is that which keeps me alive. Pain is that which gives me drive. I feel the pain, forget, and leave, the pain secretly makes me breathe.
Life has been hard on me. That’s my excuse.
No, no, not excuse; *reason*. Excuse makes it sound like I’m brushing away some misdeed. I have not, no, I have done no misdeed! I swear it to you.
I took that as my reason to do what I do. And
~ (yes, it really ends there) ~
I have come to terms with myself. Contentedly miserable would be a good way to put it. Nothing has *changed*, exactly, but I no longer wish to change. Sadness is neither positive nor negative, it just *is*.
Depression is continual and unchanging; it is what I am. I no longer wish for relief from it, but breathe it in and out and live as I will.