there are many moments, many days, when thinking about the pain that many others have experienced and endured gives me the courage and the acceptance to get through. to keep moving. to be.
but then there are random times, sometimes very real and sometimes perhaps even suppressed moments, when none of that seems to matter. the times when the person with the far more tragic story than mine can't help at all. and the stories of endurance don't give me any hope.
it's the moments when my pain seems to be fully mine. and the times when i feel fully alone. and the times when i fully want to reject it all. it's in these times, i don't want someone to relate to. because i'm at a point where i'm too tired of embracing it all. i don't feel like moving toward getting better, because i'd much rather move toward what used to be. toward a previous state of me.
it's at these times i'm extremely selfish. and without any apology for it. though also not without guilt about it. it's at these times i cry aching, ugly tears. but never as many as i would like to. it's at these times i look for someone else that would be better suited for this stuff. but as i add names to a list in my head, i quickly scratch them off.
i don't like these moments.