problems

I’ve built up courage to tell people about things they could probably hold against me. I’ve given some people access to it, to know about my life in words. To hold the knife against my neck and keep it there.

I told myself, they can wield the knife to kill but only if I give them my neck, and I want to believe that there’s no issue in showing the people I love around me this part of my life. I was opening up. Trying to show people a part of me that I’d always been scared to show. My wounds. My scars. My life.

But when I speak to people, I have to be cautious. This was the one place, where I didn’t have to watch what I was saying because it was my hideout. It was my safe zone. It was a secret. Somehow, I feel that I have to be more cautious now, think about the consequences of my writing and wait for these people to look me the in eye and run their knives across my neck.

But I can forgive them, because they do it without realising. Without realising the consequences of what they inflict upon me. I’m not sure how to put this without sounding ungrateful. I cherish the people around me highly, I love them and will forever be loyal to them but my feelings aren’t stories for you to read. It’s my feelings, my most treasured feelings. I don’t want to be asked if it was about you, I don’t want to be told that you feel sad because I felt this way. I felt this way once upon a time. That is true, but I don’t feel that way now.

I write to set these feelings aside, and when I’m ready I let the world see what I overcame. My problems are a fleeting occurrence, which soon go because new emotions overtake it.

– H.E

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Letting Go.

Letting go isn’t easy. It will never be. If you’ve genuinely loved someone, you’ll understand. Your life depends on it and you enter denial when you come to realise.

It’s easier said than done, but it can be done. It’s not impossible. It takes time and persistence to let go. Persistence and a constant reminder of why.

You’ll miss them, but you learn to live with it. Eventually you come to understand that you need to let it go. It’s poison to your blood. Fire to your veins.

Letting go is for the best.

– H.E

Beastly

The beast inside feeds off anger, insecurities and pain. When I feed it, it feels heavy, like it’s about to rip my chest and pounce out. When I starve it, it cowers away and stays silent until the next time because it knows. It knows that it will get fed one day, whether it be in two hours, a week or a month. It slowly waits inside, knowing. Smirking.

That’s why I write, I write because the screaming in my chest quietens down after I pour it onto a page. Instead of letting my heart bleed, I bleed ink onto a page. Little by little, I let out what is supposed to be kept inside to calm the beast inside. To tame it. Because if it gets too much to handle, it means the beast has won, I’m left in pieces and I have to slowly piece myself together again. Alone.

Because it is my battle, and mine alone.

-H.E