creative drain

I haven’t written anything in a long time. And I have no body to blame but myself. Its been over a month since I’ve written anything of substance and this is extremely out of character for me, even when im overly busy I wish there was something I could do to change those times when it is nearly impossible to write. But really what can I do when im the culprit? I’m not going to write a dramatic piece full of dark metaphors about how depression is a looming shadow that follows me everywhere. But it is, more or less.
The fact that this is the first thing I’ve written in more then a month is concerning and serves as a creative drain. but im not going to attempt to fix it tonight. I've already gone out of my way to make myself write something even if all that came out of it was this, an inconclusive piece explaining why im so absent If I ever resurface from this nullified spell, maybe ill have some incite as to why it keeps me from writing. But I doubt it, i've had this before and ill have it again.

i mean...

I almost never convay what i mean. maybe this because i don't know what i mean. im sorry i almost never post anymore, im a horrid example of a blogger. ill get on it soon

My mind Is tainted

   Sometimes I think there is a world outside of my mind, and other times I think my mind is the world

   My brain is just a lens that allows the world to be seen, and allows itself to be seen by the world.  

   But sometimes that's the problem because just like the world, it can be tainted by the way things work around it or within it. 

   That's all existence is, things co-existing and perceiving each other however it can. And if there are un recognized false perceptions it causes a ripple effect making misconceptions the only way things can be perceived.

   This makes it hard to re evaluate things, it makes it hard to reconsider    Truth

If there is a such thing

THIS IS FALLIBLE

Sometimes I cling to words, there my only hope for empathy

A deep thought just means it's hard to understand, and that only means it's a farther jump from words to meaning.

Meaning has no words that compute, like:

Language is to truth as sex is to love

Invalid, irrelevant, insincere. Fake

We can all cling to hope of an ultimate truth or infallible belief 

But all Gods will fail, all laws will crumble

Because all words are faulty, all words are lost

Weather it be a loop hole or double meaning, it can't fit the structure of our wordless minds.

I'd say we live and die alone, but even that is faulty. 

It is made of words 

If only you knew: {a memoir to those who don't}

Sometimes things don't make sense; like the lines between reality and mentality are blurred. When you see with your mind and not with your eyes, and being alive is contradictory. The past is a painful reality that is happening right now, and time can stop completely. The world feels empty as you run through crowds of people. The war in your mind is apparent by the battle field visible on your skin.
they dont know,
and neither do you, but your world is a different color.

a memior of mentality

There is a special pain in hating yourself.
I know it, or at least knew it, at least I think. Something had to lead me to be something i'm not. But it was so long ago I cant remember what, or how to get back
I dont hate me because of what I am, I hate me because I ma nothing. Grasping for something to blame for all this pain. Shouting into the void of lost mentality. I am so detached from what is real that looking both ways before crossing the street seems redundant.
In order to clear a path in my mind, I have to know whats in the way. But I cant face the memories presenting themselves as flashbacks and nightmares.
I cut lines in my skin, but there as meaningless as the lines in the writing books i've left empty for fear of seeing whats in my mind reflected in words on their pages. Things ive spent years burying under dissociated mentalities. Bubbling to the surface in panic attacks unbearable in severity.
When there is no past to cling to and there is no proof of a future things lose meaning.
What is meaning anyway,
im impossible to love and easy to forget.
So maybe if I forget myself and everyone else does too; one day il step into the road forgetting to look and lose all this pain and emptiness.
Because those who care dont know, and those who know dont care.
And somtims I feel it creeping in with an adicting lore and ill get lost in the sadness before losing myself again.
I never forget
but im always forgotten

To those who knew me....

To those who knew me when I was too young to talk and too fragile to walk, who's expectations were certainly not met by that very young girl.

To those who knew me, when I was playing in the woods, or hiding in my room, battered by anxiety. My mind wont have healed.

To those who knew me, when I was hating myself, hurting myself to try to get rid of the hate that plagued my mind. The scars wont fade.

To those who knew me, when hiding behind religion and therapy was the only way to feel centered, I neglected them.

To those who knew me, when having no place to be and no one to love meant I had no reason to live, i'm still invalidated.

To those who know me, torn and broken wishing for hope, I push to continue.