Days where you lose track of the core thing, the center of meaning… It’s terrible. When monotony and foolishness lead to desperate attempts to change the rhythm; I often become lost in the ensuing regret. I’ve been here before, and I wonder why I have not been able to prevent myself from blowing up my world.
I’m truly a good person inside. I have a good heart, and I don’t lie my way through life or pretend myself into ignorance or whatever. I try to be compassionate. Mostly, I’m a burden, a weight because of how I’m fundamentally configured. I’m slow to notice a digression. It hurts me to see how lost I’ve become sometimes. Astray from the warmth of love. Letting it get covered in dust.
I do my best, and fail anyway, every so often. I am woefully sad about my recent most damaging and traumatic act. I feel your ache, your pain, your broken trust. I burn inside with frustration, that I can be so fucking stupid sometimes. I literally amaze myself.
I don’t have words that make it better. I have real gut-wrenching sorrow. I feel like an entry in a journal, descriptive and exposing my weaknesses plainly and starkly. My deep-rooted flaws. I need help so badly, and I’m making minor progress towards a better state of being. But what I can’t be, is clear. It’s painful to realize your ceiling is somewhere nearby.
The ruin is in my constant questions: like do you, eventually, deserve better than me? Am I a really shitty person, all told, and I am incapable of being a good partner? I’m not sure how right anything is that I’m saying. I’ve lost sight of the burning bright of the real.
I’m begging for forgiveness, but I’m dying to turn back and redo it all; instead, I’m trapped in the murky trench with boots full of corpse-blood. I can see no productive end to my spiral into shame. I will eventually learn, and ponder the idiocy of my regular actions with some solace in change. I am in deep doubt of myself, and wondering how I never cease to find a way to ruin the good things in my life.
I Have been guilty of neglect, and painful in-compassionate stoic coldness. I have seemed dead, callous and annoyed. Frustrating. Enduring my struggle is hard enough for ME to handle, let alone you too.
I’m not making any news here. I just love you. I’m going to try to be as good a person as I can manage, for as long as you’re willing to keep me around. I’m devoted to your rubs, sniffs and gestures of quiet complexity. I desire to know how we will change, and grow, and keep loving each other nevertheless. I don’t know where we’re going, but I want to be there with you. I miss your whole head.
I’m in a sad place now. I have to go be distracted by something that will get me out of myself.