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All I do is write things about sadness. And it gets me so angry. Like is there nothing else I can write about?
And then I remember that I haven’t really lived a fully fledged life and when you haven’t really lived, it’s hard to write about things you’ve never experienced.
So how can I write non-sad things when I’ve spent the majority of my life sad.
My life is a boiling pot of sadness. A sad start, and an even sadder middle. The years and years striving for the perfect life, that I never really wanted in the first place and then in the end never ever reaching it.
Self loathing, self hatred and a lack of self confidence, never really allowing myself to live the life that I actually wanted, deserved and craved and then only making me feel ten times worse when I didn’t get the things that I wanted, deserved or craved.
It’s no wonder I always write about sad things. My experience of happiness is extremely limited. I have no life experience and that’s all I want, I want to know what it really means to live, I want to experience more.
I’m sick of being stuck in my own self created prison. I know that I am destined for so much more.
I want to break down the invisible barrier that is holding me back. Pick up a bat like Lucille and bash it to pieces, watching the shards fly about as I beat at it in slow motion and keep on hitting and hitting and hitting at it. Screams roaring from my throat, sweat dripping off me. Looking all frenzied. No fucks given about what I look like to others. Not stopping until every part of it is broken and I’m finally free.