itotallycantdraw-woo

I heard a song for the first time the other day that put me in a contemplative mood. It is called "Self Destructive" by Vorse. "Self-destructive tendencies that I have are killing me slowly, but that's fine. I like the way it feels." When talking about my mental health once, I was asked if I liked it a little bit; the pain, sadness. I realized that the answer was yes. I'd just never been asked it before, never made to say it aloud and admit it. Looking back on that moment, I don't think I realized what a turning point it was for me. I realized something I had never totally realized before, that I both loved and hated my misery at the same time, and that my true desires to feel better were clouded by an attachment to the sickness. At a certain point, it was time to let go and decide to want to feel good, to like feeling good...instead of feeling bad. "If I don't wake up, I'm better off. I'll finally catch up on my sleep." I loved feeling fucked up, the basis for my art. What am I

I remember once when I was in high school, I made a comment in response to someone I was talking to along the lines of, "Come on, doesn't everyone think about jumping off of a building every once in a while?" The person, who wasn't a close friend, more of an acquaintance from class, looked at me point blank and said with a slightly faltered tone. "No, I don't....think about jumping off of buildings." I think that was the moment I realized I was different. That was one of many moments I recognized that something wasn't quite right in my brain. It was the first time I learned what it felt like to suddenly feel alone. Do I still feel an artistic serenity only found upon the precipice of death when I think of these moments? Absolutely yes, but I no longer feel the pull. I no longer feel the fear that one day my brain may turn on me, and that I would just jump without thinking... May that still happen someday, sure. I'd rather it not, but I cannot predict the future of my emotions, my

It has broken some. A pillar, the foundation. It is crumbling from beneath me. All I can seem to do is watch it disintigrate with tears streaming down, wetting the chipped marble of my heart's staircase.