The human experience is fucking visceral and heartbreaking. Beautiful despite its tragedy. It feels like nothing and everything as I see things through the lens of the day to day, the minutia.
I so badly yearn to feel loved in my life by others – the love I give to them so freely, that I’m often left with the feeling of truly not being seen by the people I’ve allowed into my space. Because others are so self-consumed with themselves and their own stories, personal tragedies and successes. They make no space for the feeling we so often seek – authentic love for yourself and in turn, for others.
I break myself apart each day, each night as a climb into bed, I feel myself breaking internally – little bits of my heart emptying and nothing to fill those spaces.
What is all this for?
*This was written over a month ago during a particularly bad day. I was taking a bubble bath and wrote down my thoughts in the handy dandy Notes App on my phone. Back to regularly scheduled programming tomorrow. *
200 Milligrams at a Time 