I am reasonably certain that the only reason I am still alive is because I desperately hate hurting people. And I know that if I hurt myself, the people I love the most would suffer the most. And that’s unbearable to me.
But I also think it’s a little frightening that there’s nothing else really holding me here.
Frightening and pathetic. Because who am I to say that my pain is so unbearable? What on earth is wrong with me that I can’t cope?
Selfish. Shameful. Damnable.
Why can’t I just be okay?
the-changing-sky said:
the only reason I am alive is writerly curiosity. keep waiting for a new plot twist.
greenchestnuts reblogged this from stitching-seams and added:
Have you seen the cartoon of the man with the smashed hand where everyone’s trying to tell him that he should just cope?...
waterrwithlemon reblogged this from stitching-seams and added:
If I take out any empathy from my words I would make the point that we are relational characters and if it weren’t for...
stitching-seams posted this
About Stitching Up The Seams
Seems...
calligraphy, u so cool
