deep breaths

Have you ever been suffocated?

You start shoving, scratching and screaming to get out, but you don’t get anywhere because it just gets worse. You get pressed down further, and then one day you snap and all that shoving, scratching and screaming goes to waste.

You die. Inside.

Then everything becomes mellow, your look on life completely changes and you’re no longer living, you’re just existing.

I don’t want to just exist, I want to live. That’s why I’ll keep fighting until the day I break and, the day I break will be the day I die. I refuse to break, because I want to live and living means to fall over, get up, learn and repeat. I refuse to spend the rest of my life wallowing, regretting, avoiding like a coward because I don’t want to face up to my fears and problems.

As long as my heart beats, I’ll keep living.

– H.E

Advertisements

Feel

I’ve never realised how much I talked until I found someone who listened. I guess before I always listened instead of talked, and I was regarded as someone who was quiet, timid because of that. But when I talked, I talked. Non-stop. I could talk to you until your ears fell off, I could talk for hours and hours on end, with just a few sips of water in between.

I haven’t written much lately, and that’s probably because I hadn’t been feeling at all. Nothing felt right, as I put a pen to the paper. It felt forced, I felt as though I was telling myself what I was supposed to feel instead of what I was actually feeling. The feeling of nothing. You never realise you feel nothing until you feel something again.

That spark of happiness, pain, anger, ignites inside you again, and you wonder how you managed not to feel anything. And I guess the reason we hurt ourselves is because we want to be reminded of what feeling, feels like. To remember that we’re human and how we once were. Because feeling pain is better than feeling nothing. Being empty and wondering what on earth was wrong. Because all you hear is that hollow thump thump in your chest instead of excited squeals or cries that your heart emits when you feel. 

And god damn does it feel good to feel again. To break a smile to thin air, to look like a psychopath whilst thinking about things that make me happy. To talk to people, and feel fulfilled after conversations with them. To actually write what I actually feel. It’s been a damn while. To have people who listen, and people who care is one of the most important things. You don’t have to posses the ability to fix problems, because not all problems have a solution, but them knowing that your presence is a choice, not an obligation is the first key step to being there for anyone. And it makes me smile, that I have people like that in my life. People who listen, people who care, and people who are always there for me.

And I promise forever and always to be there for you too.

– H.E

 

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

Ashamed.

So, when I first started writing, it was something that I was slightly ashamed of. I’m actually ashamed of admitting it now. It just wasn’t something people did, and I felt like I was the only one. It was only a few years ago that I saw a friend so open, and she was outspoken. I wasn’t.

Everything I write is very personal to me. It’s my thoughts and feelings that I feel deeply about. I was uncomfortable with others reading it. It made me vulnerable and I never did vulnerable.

I hated feeling that people could look inside me and make their judgement. I only felt that way because I was scared to be judged for who I truly was. I wasn’t looking for validation, I was looking for acceptance. 

For a very long time now, I’ve always felt like a standout. I stuck out like a sore thumb, someone once told me. So, my journey went on. I constantly found ways to be like everyone else, to fit in. To find validation. This carried on for years and I had friends, yeah, when I became like everyone else. But I didn’t know who I was anymore.

It was hard. At first. Telling myself there’s nothing wrong with me. And I found out that others people’s acceptance was incomparable to my own. My own acceptance of myself was the most important. 

So, I started writing more, reading more and I slowly became happier. I’m happy with myself now. Of course, I still have insecurities but I live for the things that make me happy. I want to be happy.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ve been ashamed of writing for so many years but it made me happy and helped me accept myself. Shame is not an organic feeling, it’s something that you feel because you think you’re supposed to feel it. 

I’ve been more open about my writing and what I do. With help of friends who actually care for me, I’m starting to accept myself and I’m not as confused anymore.

Writing has helped me, and I’m no longer ashamed or embarassed. I enjoy it and without a doubt, I am a lot happier.

-H.E

One Day

When heartbreak happens we’re told that one day we will be fine. One day, we will be happy again. One day, we will love again.

But what if that one day never comes?

What if that one day becomes several days, and those several days become several years, and those several years become a lifetime of waiting and longing and hoping that they will come back. When does it stop? When do we stop?

What should we do? Because the longing in your heart is tearing you from the inside, begging for attention and screaming. Or is that you? Maybe it is. You can’t tell anymore because that longing has become you and you have become it.

But remember it is just an it and you have so much more ahead of you. You have a whole life to live, look across the horizon and believe that you can get there. Because believing you can get there is what makes you carry on living. And living is what will get us to that one day we’re hoping for. That one day that will make us scream for joy and cry in happiness because it means that it is an it and you are a survivor.

– H.E

To heartbreaks, friends, and us.

she fell in love…

She fell in love,

not because you bought her flowers on valentines.

She fell in love,

not because you told her that you’d marry her some day.

She fell in love,

not because of your ring she wears on her finger.

She fell in love,

because you showed her the sky and beyond. You showed her the meaning of love, and within that meaning she found you. You were the salvation to her dying soul, you showed her how bright someones eyes could shine when they looked at her. The excitement that built up in her stomach and blew up in her soul when she saw you.

She fell in love…

with you, and only you, because you chose to love her even when she failed to love herself.

She fell in love,

and you will forever hold the key to her heart.

She fell in love.

– H.E