Lately I have been trying to get in my head and pull out whatever thought I have. Trying to go back to my roots, I guess. Yet…Well… Somehow, I can’t. I wish to write, I really do. I wish to throw all this darkness onto paper and forget about it even just for a short while. Tell my story. Explain my feelings and take a deep dive, as deep as I can. But for some reason, creativity eludes me. Sure, I get photos here and there, nice ones that I want to post and share with the world… Poems that I have written that resonated with how I felt... But all I can think about is how… horrific my mindset is during those times. It’s been more than a month since I last used social media for “social purposes”. I have missed a ton of events that I could’ve gone to. I won’t be able to understand inside jokes formed during moments that I wasn’t present. I have lost the momentum, and I have to start all over again. But is it worth it ? Was stepping away from everything worth it ? For the past couple of months I have simply floated, even though I felt like I was drowning the whole time. I still do. I still feel the salt water choking me and filling up my nostrils here and there. Funny, I run to the sea for peace and yet when I envision myself going away all I taste is salt and sand. There have been so many times where I wanted to post a photo and say “I was dying but nobody noticed.”, but people did notice. Charles did. Mich did. Fau did. Trey did. Lala did. Ellen did. Mimi did. Vince did. Mary did. Red did. My MI Girls did. My GGP friends did. I just didn’t engage or open up or let them in. Instead I broiled my mind deeper into these dark and dangerous thoughts and let myself fade away little by little. I let my fear of being misunderstood consume me. I wanted to fight for myself, I really did. But I just… can’t. Even getting out of bed felt like such a huge bother. I just wanted to play my games all day long. Escape to a made up place inside my head. Even breathing felt like such a huge deal. Everything felt like it weighed ten tons. Every move I did I needed help. I needed a couple of minutes of pep talk and reality check that the world is not going to end even though it felt like it is and it will. Every now and then though, I would get this burst of energy that made me feel like I could drop this bleak mindset and just do. I really wanted to get back to my roots, to recover. I want to paint. I want to write music. I want to take pictures and share them with the world. I want to genuinely laugh with my friends again. Meet strangers’ eyes instead of hiding behind my hoodie. But I never seemed to have the mental capacity to do so. Until this morning. Suddenly, I just woke up and felt so tired of just floating. Suddenly I felt like I had enough. Suddenly I had thoughts of the future and what could be. The grief is still there. The worry of not being good enough. The daunting feeling of failing again and again and again and never being able to live up to people’s expectations. So, here we go, I guess. Cheers to trying again and cheers to recovery. Recovery is a fcking bitch but at least I have hope again.