Sometimes I feel like I am going crazy. Maybe I made it all up? Maybe it wasn’t so bad? Maybe it’s me being the critical, complaining person I have been called getting all caught up in an exaggerated world. The hypocritical statements directed at me lead to confusion.
I suppose this is one reason I need to write. So I don’t forget. Because time has a way of blurring lines. But I start to feel so dark. As though my words reveal a black hole. Portraying me as a bottomless pit of negativity. I begin to get caught in a mix of anger, sadness, guilt, and then self-doubt.
Walking a fine line. There are so many things I miss. And things I would like. But how do I trust?