Right Side of Rock Bottom
I want to say that I've reached rock bottom, but I always seem to sink lower than I thought I could. Sometimes I think my tears have dried up, but then I find myself crying some more. Then I think that I don't have any energy left to even care, and I find myself caring some more.
About anything.
About everything.
I always care too much about things. The most little things get to me, which can get very annoying. And the least important people become so important, even if they shouldn't. So when they leave, it hurts.
It always fucking hurts.
It's like a constant headache, except that it's not just a headache. It's a full body ache. A heart ache. A life ache. And I may be big, but even my body can't seem to support it all. It collapses under the pressure, and it can barely lift a finger. It's smashed to the floor, shattered, broken, done. Game over.
I care and care and care. And people warn me. "You shouldn't care this much." "You shouldn't get attached." "Don't get used to it because it'll go away." Everything always goes away, and I expect it every time. Except I don't, because if I did, it wouldn't hurt this much.
Nothing is forever. Things don't last. I repeat these words every day to myself, but I can't get used to them. I try to wrap my head around the fact that I will always be alone in my misery, and that the people that leave don't really care about the pain they leave behind, but human beings were not made to carry so much weight around—physically and mentally. Philosophy will tell you that the human being is neither good or bad. It is influenced by its surroundings. But I believe that it is good. It's just that, some of them carry too much on their shoulders. And they hurt. And they cry. And they give up.
And I am slowly and painfully giving up.
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