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The Lies of Moving On

"You complain about the same things."

I write and post and scream and yell about the parts of my soul that are being torn to shreds. I vent in places where I am unknown to the world and where reality can't reach me. I scribble and scratch and gnaw at the wounds that I didn't create. I am a tortured soul living in a world where shutting up and moving on is the normality of the day to day but how I can recover from something I cannot grasp?

I don't understand what "moving on" is.

Am I supposed to forget the trauma? Am I supposed to wake up one day and the world be painted in un-thorned roses and lilac skies? Am i supposed to pretend that the body I walk around in every single day has been untouched and unscathed by the vile things it's endured?

I can't view the world in the ways that the renowned writers and the successful survivors do. I admire so much that they were able to manifest their pain in ways that touched millions. I am in awe of the strength that it gave them and the inspiration they were to so many.

But they are not me.

I am not them.

I am me. I am me in the ways that pain haunts my bones like graffiti on abandoned buildings. Stark reminders of visitors that have had thoughts, feelings, or their own pain that had no escape and they have decimated the things around them that had no way to speak for themselves. My body and mind are littered with reminders that I am not the only one in pain because as the saying goes, "hurt people hurt people."

So what is it about me that felt so welcoming to those looking for a release?

Just as those who have repeated the cycle of pain I, too, will continue a cycle they could not break. But rather than hurting those around me, rather than destroying something once untouched, I will write and post and scream and yell until I feel that release that may reach those that it needs to or give me comfort I need to discover what "moving on" means.

I will continue the cycle upon my terms.

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To be in the grips of mental illness and addiction is such a tight rope to walk.

Sometimes I feel like I am on top of the world. I feel like it all makes sense and I am living my life to it's max capacity. If I full send my life in a way that brings me joy in that very moment then that makes the entirety of my life worth it. If, while knowingly being fleeting, I can forget all of the pain and all of the loneliness that maybe I can find some type of purpose in the same second that I'm breathing that I can fool myself into believing that it truly isn't all bad.

But the alcohol wears off. The drugs fade. The next fix becomes the fixation because the moment they wear off is when reality sets in.

A reality I cannot face.

I have tried therapy. I have tried talking, hiking, self help apps, rehabs, throwing myself into work and relationships, hobbies, podcasts, writing, painting, art.. the list goes on and on. My inability to find stability is not for a lack of trying. I have tried it all and found more heartbreak where salvation was promised to be.

So what if it's me?

What if I am the cause of my own destruction? What if I am so far gone and so deeply broken that I beyond the grasp of help? What if I don't even want help anymore and simply want to succumb to the numbness I have grown so accustomed to? What if the darkness within me has become the only tried and true friend that I can truly count on?

I never meant to be this way. I didn't want to find these coping mechanisms that feel more like love than the love I've scoured the depths of my shallow family pool for. I found solace in the isolation of my pain and connection in the false relationships I've created with those who drown their pain in similar ways that I do. People that I only see when the sun has long kissed the mountains goodbye.

We all seem to hurt in different fonts but no one will ever confront those demons when they're playing in our minds when the substances wear off.

We can scream and yell and cry and drink and drug and cut and wallow in the graves that we're digging for ourselves. Ultimately, it has nothing to with the way we numb ourselves. It has everything to do with the way we cannot accept any form of love that is not painful. To accept love is to accept that we have never received care in ways that was needed when we needed it the most. To know that anything that is not toxic and painful will soon become tainted by our own volatile actions and behaviors.

How can I be loved when I have become the monster I used to run from?

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“Dust”

For us I tried to carry strength in my stride,

Old love a garden we slowly let the roots run dry,

The whipping winds ripping top soil slipping,

the dirt - its crumbling to dust,

to be carried away by hopes and dreams,

those invisible currents are thieves stealing our thoughts and memories.

Now taking through time the same love that once was mine.

Go on darling -

I don’t believe myself, yet “I’m fine”

-original poem —>@weeladdabz

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Let me Go

It will eat me alive and consume my soul I lay here in waste waiting for the end to come My heart can't take it any longer The thoughts swirl around my head yelling at me so loud I want to run away to where I will never be found What is my purpose? Why am I here? Answers to these questions I may never find I fear Is it a waste if I pass on now having achieved not a single thing? What use was my life anyways it is only pain I bring Let me go let me be free Let me curl up into a ball and fall into the endless sleep I beg of thee please let me go I can't take it anymore The torture is endless the void in my heart will never be whole Just let me go

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Dusty Ray

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safe in your skin

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Signs

I wish someone would have taught me the warning signs.

I would demand they spoke up when snide comments were made just short of ear shot.

I would be able to recognize that slamming doors, cabinets, and the flinging of odds and ends would lead to my body being the backboard.

I would have starting reading and writing more self affirmations for when the time came that I no longer felt I had any semblance of intelligence or worth upon my own merit.

I would have learned to stop coddling the fragility of the alpha-male ego for the sake of softer life.

I wish someone would have taught me the warning signs but I do not blame them for not doing so.

The signs are hidden beneath a mask thats only unveiled once their claws are positioned in a way that has you pinned in the precise location that they've deemed is most beneficial for them... and only them.

The pain ranges from physical, to mental, to emotional, to everything in-between. It's the fear of knowing that they'll be walking in through that door and the rest of your day is a tightrope trot based solely on how their day went.

It's the anxiety of hearing a booming profanity from the other room knowing that the energy of the house has shifted and has the decent has begun once again.

It's shelling up into your skin and finding comfort in your bones and then being ripped to surface only to be told how lazy and worthless and disgusting you've become.

How dare they question the ways I've changed when they are the one who lit the fire and forged this armor?

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Ya girl finally got an Only Fans!

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“A house doesn’t become a home until love moves in.”

— Faraaz Kazi

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According to Buddhism, love is not just a feeling, but a practice that involves cultivating qualities like loving-kindness (metta), compassion (karuna), sympathetic joy (mudita), and equanimity (upeksha), meaning that true love extends beyond romantic relationships and should be directed towards all beings, encompassing a sense of caring, understanding suffering, sharing in happiness, and maintaining a balanced mindset even in challenging situations.

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