it is nice to have you in my corner, you know. somehow, some way, anyway.

it is december again

you know, sometimes i get scared of getting swept underneath the cover of my own existence. as in, existences speak for themselves, speak to a life lived, a state of affairs, how you are perceived. but that's no fun at all, is it? i write because the thought crossed my mind, and not to write then is as though choosing a silence, a feeling that could only ever weigh down on me as heavy as it does.

it really does get to a point, you know? to ask myself where or if i am willing to draw the line, if i even should. i am telling myself that one day having drawn it, i can walk past it for the last time, take one foot out of my pain and step into all that which is beyond it. it's a comforting thought, isn't it?

the idea of being healed is so very tempting to people. everyone wants to be changed for the better, constantly shedding some part of themselves that they now recognize as so unnecessary and ridiculous. but sometimes i've asked myself, how much more than a feeling can this feeling be? the presence of change i have never doubted. and yet its nature, i have doubted again and again. i have found myself, at times, sat asking "is this change good? am i growing?" and to that end i have arrived to conclusions every time that never seem to be the same. or at least i was for a very long time.

i've lied to myself, you know? i think i can say that. i think that when you are 19 years old and you have fucked up for what feels like the first time in your life, the only time it ever mattered, somehow, you tell yourself that you are only growing. that's not not true, but i don't think it was my answer. but what answer could console me, anyway? what answer could change any of it?

and that is where i found my real answer. it's been said so many times that it is not the destination that matters, but the journey. i suppose that's what i'm getting at now, an answer that you could find really just about anywhere. but then too, isn't that just the nature of, the strenuous journey of acceptance? what lies right in front of us is not always perceived, feels unreachable. we deny ourselves, we are denied. we avoid and run away from the truth but it will lie in wait for us whether we like it or not. why let it weigh heavy?

i feel that one of the few dangers in this pursuit is deciding too early to start drawing lines, and saying "i am no longer this person" when you could not begin to understand the weight of that statement. i was obsessed for so long with trying to say for certain what it is that i was. do i know now?