Sunday, February 28th, 2016.

Having someone to genuinely open up to is a terrifying experience. How much information is too much information? Is it even safe to tell them what goes on inside your head with the complete trust that they won’t judge or treat you any differently? It’s a question that’s plagued me, and eventually plagued my relationships for many years. I’ve either told too much or too little and I find it hard to find the balance to keep things flowing.

This year has been an entirely new experience for me as a whole. I entered 2016 with my head hanging over the toilet with the worst hangover I’ve ever experienced. I thought to myself “hey, it’s a new year, time for things to turn around!” but I’ve eventually come to worry and stress about things that I pushed to the back of my mind long ago. It’s almost a annual occurance for this to happen – every now and then I can’t help but begin to wonder where I went wrong. There’s only so many times you can talk to a silent journal with your black ink before you realise your biggest mistake might have been taking on everything alone.

Skip back to 2008. By this point, I had complete confidence that my former childhood problems would vanish the more I drowned them in nicotine and alcohol. By the end of 2009 after what could only be described as my own wrongful making, I sacrificed what would have been most of my young adult years pretending I was older than what I was. When I realised that my friends were taken from me by force, my life had gone 100mph without me noticing that I had been dragged into adulthood without my consent, I bailed as soon as I managed to release the chains. I lived the way I wanted to for a good couple of months before again, I was turned into something I shouldn’t have been. I finished 2015 and entered into the new 2016 wondering where I went wrong at every turn. Why was I always placed into a situation that affected me mentally, that dragged me down into the pits of hell where I gradually burned every fibre of hope of happiness that I owned.

It doesn’t take long to realise the naivity you’ve experienced over the years. Always wishing things would be better – being told they will be better. Even when you tell yourself that you can and will walk away when it gets too much, you can’t. You’ve been sucked too deep into a vortex and the only way out is the legendary difficulty maze with a raging Capra Demon at the end. It almost seems impossible the more you try and fail, eventually accepting that this is it now. I’m a quick learner, but I’ll never get the hang of dealing with unpredictability. I’ll never fully be able to cope with the realisation of my vulnerability. The real problem is, is it’s practically impossible for me to be comfortable with opening up, without feeling guilty and allowing others to help guide me back to safety.

In every post I write, I try and remind my readers – the ones who stumble across these disorganised string of words laced together with punctuation – that they’re worth something. It’s because I know that it’s far too easy for others to bring you down, and it’s even easier for the words to implant themselves into your head where the only course of action feels like surgery to remove the tumour of self-loathing to be removed. With enough thought, self-relaxation and a reminder that without you, someone, somewhere will never experience what you and you only can give them. There’s something about everyone that makes them special, but it takes the right person to see that and appreciate it properly.

Edit: I probably wont keep this on here for long. I just needed to vent. I’m tired of being stuck inside my own head.

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