I haven't posted in a while and I feel that prolonged absences on here equates to a better head space or a happier place that I seem to have found for a while.
I think that has been the case recently, although I can't be sure. I never write for pleasure or do art for pleasure.. Why is it only feel like doing the things I do love for reasons of pain?
Lately I've been recognizing in other people a lot of what I want to portray in the perception I exert to the outside world. Maybe if I fool others enough then I will believe some bits of it to and I can be content with this shell I have of my former self. Its hard to write positive thing when you hold so much in all the time. Keeping up with it all feels like I'm living a lie, If I'm honest I probably am, but aren't we all?
In truth, you like the pain. You like it because you believe you deserve it, and the fact that you’re putting yourself through pain means you are doing what you, by all rights, ought to do. You’re doing something right. Your ability to withstand pain is your claim to fame. It is ascetic, holy. It is self-control.
