Sad thought from a happy day?


Today I went out with my Lilly, her boyfriend and her nephew(and boy, has he grown!!). We saw the new Spiderman movie. I wish I could’ve heard Michael Keaton’s real voice instead of the French dub, but what d’you want? We’re not in Lille. The €€€ fly but your 20170715_122537-1expectations can DIE. Not really kidding, but you can laugh! I do cos it’s saaaad 😦

Everything was fine until we sat in the cinema and they started chatting together and I was left with my thoughts and the darkness(not really at first but it already felt like it).

[ I will try and be as short as I can because I am tired right now and at home. Honestly, as much as I’d have lots to say and write, I can’t just spend my time on a computer/phone. I take pictures and post them when the internet allows it but even if it means not doing anything or simply staring at my mom all day, I’m spending as little time as needed on the internet. ]

And as I sat there, she started speaking; that voice that just knows not how to lift me up. I tried to fight it and keep busy, devour my popcorn before the screen is even turned on, stare at the ceiling, listen to my friends’ conversations… But nothing worked. She just talked and talked. She put me down. She did not hit where it hurts, on those swollen bits of me I’m used to pressing on whenever the challenges get a bit too heavy and I fall. She hit on one of the biggest insecurities of mine… And that is, the stupid storm.

That voice wasn’t telling me how bad a friend I am, how boring, nor how I’ve been looking fatter lately, how I might not be as strong as I thought. No, she did not mention any of those things, because they weren’t so important at that time. The storm was the real thorn on the sole of my foot which I had to push deeper in, jump on and torture myself with.

She was telling me how weak I was.

Just a moment of slight darkness and I was gone, gone with the winds of despair and self-loathe. All it told me was “Look at you, the movie’s not even started yet and you’ve already let your thoughts flood you and drown you. Just a minute in and you’ve been reduced to a quiet piece of shit, and nobody even notices.”

I wasn’t putting the blame on my friends for not noticing me getting quieter and slowly fading in the background, it was all on me.

And the worst part was that, with all this already heavy enough bullshit in me came a crippling guilt which glued me to my seat. How could I be feeling bad and having all these thoughts run through my head while I was with my best friend and expected to be all about the good time? How could I just start thinking of myself and let sadness fill me while sitting next to my best friend whom I love and whose presence just completes me? I just felt bad for feeling bad, which is a feeling I’m sure a lot of people can relate to. And it sucks.

I had all these racing dark thoughts, sad ones and those mean ones pressing on my other weaknesses. But this voice was the loudest, the narrator of that afternoon. Because that’s what it was doing, narrating with acid words the mayhem in me as I sat near my dear best friend and her close ones.

And maybe the reason why I couldn’t fight it is because I agreed with it. The voice was right. I was being assaulted by those razor-sharp thoughts while there was still light in the room and I wasn’t on my own.

I don’t think that I can enjoy going to the movies anymore.

And that’s how I came to this conclusion.

I used to enjoy this because it was a way to keep me completely distracted from the bullshit inside and outside but just like a lot of things, it seems it’s not enough anymore to anesthetize my restless self. So maybe I should just stop going. I can still watch movies at home and it’ll be just the same but with more food! 😛

But really though, it sucks to pay so much money to sit in a dark room full of strangers enjoying a movie while you’re just melting on your seat and having multiple life crises at once. I can still enjoy it but it leaves me so messed up. And I feel even more alone like this, because I’m trapped in myself and no one can possibly know and it physically hurts.

Is it worth it?

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“help i had a good time”

It took me about thirty to forty-five minutes to get somewhat focused on the movie rather than my thoughts and hands. Just like it did, back when I still went to class, for me to calm down from my anxiety fits. It’s not as much a torture, honeslty. But it’s just not enjoyable, I’m so uncomfortable when this happens and I can’t escape. It’s actually pretty horrible.

So, yeah, this happened; again. I had a good time. I had a good afternoon. I was with my best friend and on the ride back home, even though I wasn’t feeling so well and quiet as fuck, she managed to make me smile and laugh and speak.

It was good but it was also really bad. And as happy a day it was, all it leaves me with, sadly, is this thought: I don’t think I can enjoy simple things anymore because I’m a wreck. I’ll try to hold on to the light of this day and the smiles and the good. But I seem to have discovered that brains tend to focus on the bad memories, or maybe that’s just me.

Everything is exaggerated in this 5″2 factory and well, I’m tired; I don’t want to type anymore.

That’s gonna be it. Longer than I thought it’d be, but I’m a fast-typer! 😛

Until next post, just, breathe. ❤

 

The Joy Graveyard – unfinished and ??? story?


The only reason I am posting an unfinished and poorly written story is that I had the lovely idea of filming a video for my second channel where I read it, badly. So I figured I’d link to a written version of it because I didn’t do an awesome job at reading it mostly because I’m tired but really just because it’s me. So here we go! (You can click here to watch the video if you’re a brave soul)


The Joy Graveyard (?need a better title?)

This is the story of a girl who knew better. For inside her heart, where most would bury their rancor, she kept all that was dear to her. She knew better than to let hate devour the light and the love in her. Most people would bite their tongue and tell not where they hurt; they would swallow the rage and the poisonous fire but never mention how upset an event/a person left them. But not her for she knew better than to let the darkness destroy her like it did her forefathers. No, she wouldn’t trap the hate out of sight and let it consume her insides. When she’d bite her tongue, it’d be for a laugh or a smile.

She had seen, countless times, how slow and painful a death such a life brings. And she had witnessed the terrifying explosion that happens when too much has been shoved down the throat and all the burning poison, like a herd of suns, rushes out of a person’s mouth and attacks anything it lays eyes on. With her wide eyes, she had watched the decay, the destruction, the darkness reign over these people and replace them piece by piece, throwing the human away and leaving only rotten flesh and hollow bones; demons.

She knew better than. Or at least so she thought.

This is the story of a girl who never laughed and barely smiled but lived maybe to be the happiest of them all. She had figured out the key to happiness, or at least, how to shield oneself against the darkness and leave this world as human as we entered it. She took all the sparks, all the light and buried it deep inside her heart. She filled herself with blue skies and bird songs. She swallowed all her smiles before they even reached her lips, she choked on her laughter and packed them tightly in tiny jars and planted them in the soil of her heart, the deepest she could reach.

As years passed by, the joy kept stacking up inside. Her friends and family kept wondering why she was always so sad and not laughing, why did she never seem to be having a good time? And she never said anything to them because they were all fake happy and couldn’t understand. To pretend was their way of life. She was happier than they could ever have wished to be.

With all this happiness inside of her, she was all set for life; she didn’t have to worry about facing tragedies because she could always reach inside to get some light. Would some bad luck strike her, she’d just open one of those jars, dig up a few smiles and she’d make it out alright. And there was always something to smile or laugh about, so she’d keep harvesting and would never run out.

Only once in her whole lifetime had she been so full of happiness that she had a breakdown. And like she predicted it was nothing destructive. It was a moment of pure happiness where she contaminated everyone in the room. It was on her twenty fifth birthday, when her mom had flown all the way from the other side of the earth to surprise her and she stood there in the middle of her tiny apartment with her friends, her boyfriend and a new dog. She was just full to the brim and after a single tear ran down her cheek, she broke the concerned silence with a laughter. Her mother cried when she saw her smile and laugh like that, like she hadn’t in forever. And the whole day was cheerful and everybody was happy and having a good time; not pretending. But that was the only time.

After that, she just kept stacking and stacking. The light was a little harder to find as the tragedies finally found her. She lost her dog. Then her mom. Eventually, her job. And maybe bits of her mind too. But life still went on and she could still reach inside to drink from those tiny jars on those long nights she’d cry herself to sleep. The world grew darker around her as her hair also progressively lost their color, but she still sought the light. She kept looking for it, eventually it got to a point where there were only sparks to be found but she’d manage to catch them and bury them just the same. And on the day she finally went to visit the clouds, she had the biggest smile on her face. 🙂


You can chose a path of self-destruction and allow hate to enter your heart and eat away at your soul or you can chose to let the light, no matter how small a spark, how weak a flame it is be the one riding shotgun. I think that’s mostly the idea I had in mind when I wrote this.

I believe it was the day right after the a7x show when I was on my way back “home” after a sleepless night at the hotel. I was in the metro and I just had a lighting hit my head and try to write the idea as quick as I could with my eyes half open.

As per usual, my writing this idea into a story is taking it to an extreme. And I don’t think that this girl truly knew better nor had the key to happiness. But I think she was onto something! 😉

You really do have power over your life and how the story unrolls and the sooner you realize that, the sooner you can make the choice to actually take charge! It’s easy to let the darkness consume you, it’s really easy. And I know that it always seems like a good idea to just bury what’s bad inside and never mention it, never think about it, just look away. It feels safer and for a while you feel like you’re actually okay and you can lead a normal life. But it kills you slowly and silently, like a gas leak in your house while you’re asleep. It is not the solution.

I believe you have to face the darkness inside and outside and seek the light. Easier said than done, I know! But evil ways always seem so much more painless and easier at first sight, it’s on the long run that you truly see how destructive they are. You can run, but you’ll never escape because it’s all inside of you and all around you anyway, so looking away is actually a pretty silly thing to do. Build up walls and paint them the color of the rainbow but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s dark outside and it’s raining inside of you.

It can be hard and painful sometimes to face the darkness. And some things you really can’t deal with and have to bury as deep as you can because they are just too much. I know. I just think that you need to try your hardest to keep the dark out of you, and especially those silly things that can turn into bitter acid in the back of your throat after you’ve let them sit in here for too long. Hate is a big no-no to me.

My point is, you have the choice and the power and it’s you who decide what eats you and what you eat. So think twice or thrice before holding grudges over those people who didn’t take out the trash once when it was their turn to, those who never gave you back those twenty bucks they borrowed, those who broke you and those who taught you life a little too hard. Don’t let hate and darkness be the master of your life; you are not a puppet so stand up to yourself and keep your soul as safe as you can.

I’m done! Thanks for reading! I’ll leave you with a very fitting quote of Hayley (MY QUEEN) Williams. Until next post, don’t forget to sit down, breathe and think before choosing to go left or right. ❤

“I have the ability to build myself up or break myself down. Strength comes from within. […] “B.O.Y.” means “Beware Of You”. Be aware of your power. We have the choice to live positively or in our own destruction.”

The Fighter in Me


I’ve been a waste of space lately. Let’s be honest; this isn’t an overstatement. A piece of shit. My demons have gotten me really down and I’ve been a lazy leech just feeding on nothingness.

I got down and I stayed down, figured “hey, I’ll just bury my head in the ground for a few decades, no big deal” because I just couldn’t take this life so I just tried my best to ignore the fact that I exist. I was having an existential crisis and I just couldn’t be bothered to actually deal with it or with any of the storm’s bullshit so I just looked away.

However, yesterday (which is now two days ago) as I got out of the bus (I took the wrong one) and walked (while texting my anxiety away, narrating my stupidity to my bff) in a haste (I was late) to my therapist’s office (what a pretty messy morning, I swear), I heard a tiny *click* coming from the back of my head. As I raised my eyebrows and my eyes grew to be the size of the moon, I realized something.

Somehow all this early morning anxiety and lack of sleep had managed to trigger the right switch and unlocked a tiny little door from which came a revelation. I didn’t have much time to actually even begin to touch it with the tip of a finger that day because I was so tired. When I got back home, just slipped on my good ol’ depressed pants and trustworthy “what’s the point” shirt and faded to black once more.

But today; I mean, yesterday (what is time, I ask, what is TIME), I was getting really excited about going outside to explore a nearby place which I pass by when I take (the right) bus to see my therapist (who’s actually a nurse??). So, as I waited for the sun to just stop being so sunny so I could step out and do the adventure thing without burning to my death, I actually had time to let the revelation sink in. And just as I was ready to walk out the door, I had to jump on a piece of paper and pen to scribble all the words that just rained on me as it suddenly hit me and I saw it.

I saw the fighter in me.

I’ve been hiding, running away and just bathing in denial, forcing myself to ignore pretty much all that there is to life. I had completely given up on trying and was looking very seriously into giving up on everything and settling for a life into the nothingness. And yet, even as I, on the surface, was giving up, it was here in me and still doing its job. The fighter in me, that part that just doesn’t know how to give up and always fights for my life, even when I feel that I’ve indeed given up.

When I sat at my desk that morning the day following the *click*, I realized that, even though if not as intensely as I was supposed to, I indeed thought about those things that I was trying so hard not to think about while I was “wasting my days away”.

I was convinced that I had managed to give up for once and that I truly was on my way to that impossible reality where I don’t bother nor believe in dreams, light and a greater use of my time on beautiful Mother Earth. I truly thought that I had manage to kill all the light left inside of me and to be honest, I was actually happy about it. Because, let’s face it, this whole existence and fighting against the current to do things that you love and be a bigger “you” it’s just so exhausting and frustrating; so, managing to give up was actually a relief.

Now I wouldn’t have to worry about energy. I could be tired all the time and it wouldn’t matter because nothing would matter anymore. I could just bathe in darkness all year long and just lie on the floor, wait for the lightning to strike me and put an end to the joke. Nothing mattered. I had succeeded in taking away all of the anxiety triggers, all the problems, all the overthinking, all the horribly demanding efforts to go against the storm to do all those things and also all the good stuff like love and vegetables.

I don’t wanna be a musician, an artist with four arms that do all these different things and doesn’t suck at them. I want to be a mashed potato without seasoning and extra extra extra cheese and a nice side dish of “nope; I don’t life”.

I FUCKING WISHED RIGHT?

Turns out that I was right when I thought that it was truly impossible for me to give up and that time I said that even when I was giving up, I wasn’t. I just didn’t know HOW RIGHT I was.

I tried my best to keep my mind busy and not think about real questions and about me. I managed to satisfy the apathetic monster inside, feed him all the junk it wanted and become it BUT in the mean time, I also managed to keep fighting in the right direction in a way! Of course, it wasn’t a super effective fighting as there was so little of me involved in the war which is why the *click* took so long to happen. But it was still fighting.

I fed the monster and let it invade the foreground so that I could find a place inside where it was calm, oh so calm, and I could actually think of my life without any parasite.

My choice of distraction could have actually given it away that I was truly just finding a less direct and brutal way to face those questions. And it did. But just after the *click*. I realized that the things I was obsessing over in order not to deal with an overwhelming life, decisions to be made and that crazy wish of living life were, deep down, helping me think exactly about what I was running from.

The fighter in me, the part of me, the spark, that will never stop fighting against the coldest winds that assault me or that I will willingly let in to freeze my soul. That part that, even when reduced to such a tiny size and beaten up, can still stand up for me and what I believe in and resurface, always, and shush the monsters back to their dark corners. (For a while at least, just enough time for the soldiers to get back to their positions and protect that fragile soul)

Now, I haven’t completely gotten rid of the filth that I smeared all over my weak flesh prison. But I’ve been feeling that spark and it’s slowly melting the grime away and bringing some heat back in the main circuits. The fighter is swimming back up. Ha ha! And well, now my laughs don’t just sound like a sound that I send to bounce against the walls and fill up the room with some “nothing wrong here” vibes. I feel less dead. And ready to put myself back on track again.

“You live and then you die, what’s the point anyways, right?” That just doesn’t sound like me. Now, I don’t know if it’s depression or any other part of the storm and I don’t care. I know it’s not me. I don’t think this truly. I’m a stupid child and I believe that there’s more to life than slowly dying as oxygen poisons us. I believe in love and in making dreams come true. And I believe in light in the darkest places. And I BELIEVE.

I might be a fatalist to some extent but I’m what I like to think of as an absurdity, a convention of paradoxes. I always find myself at both extremes at the same time. I’m a fatalist but also an optimistic and a pessimistic and a believer and a skeptic son of a blurp. I’m everything and nothing. But I’m not a person that gives up or one that doesn’t see the magic and beauty in life and beyond.

And now that I’ve slapped myself in the face several times and am slowly waking up from a dead man’s sleep, I can see it again. These words that I spoke, thought, while I was this unseasoned mashed potato (Ha ha, I’m sorry x) I’m almost done, bear with me! :-p ) weren’t mine. I don’t know which demon spoke them but they weren’t mine.

The fighter in me is a real part of me. Those demons and the storm are also a part of me but they don’t define me. They are not me. They are what I believe to be essential parts of the weather in me, the rain that rocks me in bed and make rainbows possible. (You need ups and you need downs, light and darkness; there needs to be a balance in things, this isn’t a happy fairyland where all is well.)

They are parasites but I need them and I cling to them. I need them here but they aren’t part of my identity, they are just these little dark monsters that keep this universe running.  But I am not by any means them. I am not the embodiment of my disorders and, as much as they affect my everyday life and constantly torture me, they are not part of my identity. I consider them parts of me in a way, part of my universe but not me.

Anyways. It’s going to take me a few days to truly get back on my feet and get rid of the bullshit I’m covered in. But I’m getting back up and that’s what matters in the end. I think I actually really needed this time on the floor and horribly dark fake happy days! It’s funny I guess in a way haha

So, I think that’s it. I’m glad I finally managed to get all these thoughts out of my head! I started writing this at 1AM today (which explains the confusion with time at the start of it! 😉 ) and now it’s 6PM. No, I wasn’t writing all this time! I slept and I’m still having very slow days. Recovery is a process and honestly, I was really on the floor so it takes some time to get back up and this time longer than what I’m used to. But yeah, I’m finally done getting it out of my chest and I can actually even more internalize the information now. It feels great.

I’ll end this post on a quote from Fran Bow ( a video game I obsessed over during my little “holiday”, let’s call it this from now on!). I don’t remember which character said it but I’m pretty sure it came from the journal that she found somewhere Idk. I think it’s really fitting with this post and well, off I go fixing myself up!

I don’t need to hide from pain anymore because it’s part of me.

Love is everywhere and in everything.

I enjoy crying.

I enjoy laughing.

I enjoy being alive.

Until next post, don’t lose yourself and keep looking for the light. It’s always there. Even the tiniest spark is enough to keep you going. There’s always light, somewhere, look around, in someone, in something, in the sky, anywhere, anyone, anything. And if you don’t see any light, then maybe think about opening your eyes? Maybe you don’t see because you’re not looking at it the right way. Or maybe you are the light and it’s hard to see yourself shining as you stand in the dark.

Keep running. ❤

P.S.: I, of course, still haven’t re-organized my blog and the categories are still pretty messy. But I’ll get to it eventually, don’t worry! And also, the little walk I had in the “park” that I discovered near where I’m staying was truly refreshing. There were so many ducks and I found two cats that let me pet them and aw, man, I felt really good out there! And I’m planning on going there again, maybe making a point of going every Sunday or so. 😀

worry flood


None of my worries is the least of my worries.

All my worries are on the top shelf and constantly flooding my mind.

I’m replaying everything in my head all the time.

From the tiniest detail, like that time I knocked over two plates of colored beads in kindergarten and had to stay during recess to clean up my mess.

To really heavier ones, like that time I made my mother cry.

In fact, when I say “tiniest detail”, I don’t mean it from my point of view. I mean it from most people’s, I guess. For me, all of these are as big as the other though I can make the difference between bigger ones.

They’re replaying in my mind most of the day. All the while I’m busy worrying about now and what’s next; what once was is always there, what happened haunts me all day long.

Sometimes not and I feel lightweight and I feel like I can go on and be reckless again and feel fine.

But then it comes again, at any random fucking hour of the day and it doesn’t stop. Not until I’ve collapsed under the weight of how my teacher called me out for daydreaming back when I was 7.

Everything sticks with me forever and I can’t just scrap it like a gum on the sole of my shoe. The darkness haunts me forever. I have all these creepy bugs with their small legs carefully buried in my scalp and there doesn’t go a day they aren’t hungry for some brain goo.

And when my mind obsesses over something good, how does that turn out, you ask? Well, it eventually figures out a way to darken the scene and have the prettiest flowers smell like rotten meat.

I hope I’m not my only friend because it seems I don’t want me to be happy. And fighting against myself sometimes just seem so pointless. I’m all I have, so why should I wage war upon me?

This endless worry flood has me sailing away on a self-destructive path. And I go with the flow.

All this dead water that infiltrates my lungs has such a bittersweet taste that I can’t even begin to think of letting go of.

This familiar taste, I could fight till the end.

But maybe I don’t want to win.

Maybe I just want it to flood me, just like that, and drown.

Because there is nothing sweeter than defeat and surrender to the storm.


I tried to work on Uncage’s next chapter tonight but I just couldn’t do it. My mind was too busy. And, look what I managed to vomit onto my keyboard. Isn’t it wonderful? Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts. Images. Words.

Pain is a color and I’m a rainbow.


Darkness isn’t necessarily black. It is not colors that I lack but a darker shade of black; or maybe a bottle of Jack; or stronger bones in my back…

I wanted to make this a poem but it seems the shaking in my mind cannot handle structured writing, so I will have to let it be whatever it decides to be. I will let my fingers type these confused thoughts of mine and stain my white keyboard with the poisonned ink that leaks through my broken nails. Ain’t that just the way it always goes anyways? I am nothing more than the puppet of my own thoughts.

I’ve been thinking about darkness, as in the spots that cover my heart and soul; the pain, the silent wounds, the invisible scars, the bright crevasses. And again, my brain has sewed another fancy disguise for my bleeding soul from the tasteless word-stew that simmers forever in the back of my mouth. Because this blood never lingers on my flesh and shimmers better than when I hum these word-stuffed melodies. I can watch it dance and rejoice as I praise it with my dark poetry, the only music I can create.

Darkness isn’t necessarily black. I can tell because when I look inside, I can see the colorful polka dots adorning my soul.

My best friend used to call me her rainbow, I have lost track of her reason why, but today I have found my own. If I’m a rainbow, pain is a color and my thoughts are artists. And, of course, I’m holding the bigger brush and when I’m not poking my eyes with it, I paint the biggest patches of colors and take care of any needed touch-ups.

My heart is the color of the sky, a blue that gets deeper at night when my soul is an ocean where demons can’t drown.

My hands are the color of fire, a red that gets deeper when I wrap them around my neck tight enough to shut me up.

And my green-tinted smiles they’re here to hide my rotten faith and hopes.

My head is a mess right now. I was already dealing with the storm’s unexpected come-back and now I have all these doubts and whatnots coming uninvited to the party. The place is too crowded, it’s hard to breathe and I’m losing sleep again, and weight, and strength, and hope, and faith. But, believe it or not, I somehow am in better shape than usual. I mean, I’m a mess and this is very heavy to carry around. But I still feel like I’m handling it better than ever before. But maybe that’s just another illusion.

I’m glad I got that out. I had these few lines lying around for a while now and I just had to get them out. They’ll remain here for now. Maybe they will later find home in a poem or a song, if I ever birth one of these again.

And let me just add that, as much as this sounds dramatic, too dark or whatever you wanna call it, I’m a very positive person. Don’t get me wrong, I ooze darkness and cold coffee; but I still shine, even when I shine dark. I might even be the most optimistic person I’ve met so far. I mean, if you trim all the excessive use of words, the dark tone and all the dramatic poetry, there’s light here! Not because I admit and often emphasize the ugly and darkness of certain things (mostly me) doesn’t mean I don’t see the beautiful. I actually, sadly(there it is again!…), see it everywhere.

I don’t like being called a pessimistic or a fatalist or whatever things you people can come up with, because I’m not. I see the light and the beauty in places you would never even think of looking, and I don’t give up even when I do; so shut up with your labels that don’t even fit. And to quote that Paramore song, “For a Pessimistic, I’m Pretty Optimistic“.

Cherish your pets while you have them and water your plants. ❤

My friend, Misery.


Yesterday, I had a rough morning which involved two and a half hours of sleep, caffeine, pink clouds, tears, heavy breathing, one hour and a half of being stuck to a bench, paralysis and strangers’ voices. Ol’ Insomnia has knocked on my door once again and in all my loneliness, I let her in, hoping she would help distract me. Of course, she ran in and, first things first, kicked Rest out of my bed so she would be the one to hold me all night long.

I know that anxiety don’t mix well with sleep deprivation nor coffee. But what am I supposed to do when my brain won’t shut up at night and I end up having three to four hours of sleep on a good day? I need that coffee to help me walk to the university to attend classes that I actually won’t attend fully if at all (I’ll let you guess which has been the most common scenario lately…). And as much as I know how bad an idea it is, I’ll do it because I’m exhausted from all the previous anxiety waves and also obviously from the lack of sleep inflicted by revived insomnia. But these two elements added together will only make me weaker, both physically and mentally, and therefore more prone to anxiety fits & co.

Then, no matter what I’ll try, be it breathing exercises, rational thinking (say what?), counting to ten and whatnot, it’ll happen. It’ll happen again and I’ll be trapped; trapped inside a bag of flesh and bones that cannot move anymore unless it is to shake; trapped within a mind that is pretty mad at me at that moment and doesn’t value me, only wishes to beat me up and bury me.

When I feel my toes again and when I manage to unglue my arms/hands to my face and look up enough to see it, I’ll slowly move towards the closest exit. My feet will then engage in autopilot and I’ll walk endlessly until the tears dry and my body cools down. Then I’ll somehow manage to drag the empty shell that I have suddenly become to my room with next to no energy. And I’ll be drained for the day, unable to do much at all. And I’ll try to sleep but it just won’t work because, no matter how tired, I still drank a cup of coffee when I woke this morning and that was barely two hours ago so the caffeine hasn’t left my worn out veins. So I’ll lie down on my bed or most likely the floor for a few hours, lifeless, emotionless; drained.

I’m stuck in an endless sea of vicious cycles. Each time I get out of one, I end up in another one and so on until it’s back to square one.

So tell me, what’s the use of trying if it never changes?

This is all my fault. All of these horrible struggles I go through everyday are in my head. It’s my design, I create them. And if I can’t stop them, pause them or tame them, who the fuck can? Nobody else should actually. This is my mess, my burden, my gift to myself. Happy birthday to me

I’m just so tired of it all. I keep trying and trying, sure, sometimes less than others, but I still do to some extent. And I keep failing one way or another. It always ends up burying me and I lose myself under this big pile of bullshit. All the trying does is wear me out. I’ll push the boulder up the hill, as far as I can depending on what strength the previous day has left me and what little more the present one gave me. I’ll push it everyday just to be crushed over and over as it rolls back down and I’m left to start over. Maybe I’d have moved half a millimeter away from my original position, but what is that compared to torment I had to live through to get there. It may feel like a lot but in reality, I barely would have moved, and I can’t be fooled anymore. It’s all so ridiculous and I feel like a madman going up that hill over and over (no offense, Sisyphus 😉 ).

But you know why I keep trying? Because there’s a sweet aftertaste to misery’s sourness, and I like it as much as I hate it. It’s been part of my life for a while now and it’s the one thing that never changes, never leaves and always will come back. In all this mayhem, all this going back and forth from light to darkness, my demons are the stability that, funny enough, keep me from falling apart as they tear me apart. People leave one way or another, but my demons they never leave. The storm gets old and then new again but it’s never gone.

Oh, as I’m at loss for words after typing all these thoughts, I’ll end this post with a Garbage song which is in fact really in relation with that post. There you go:

And FYI, Metallica did a cover of that song and, well, it rocks too! ❤

I like raw


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I’m supposed to be working on several things to try and save what can still be saved of this semester, so it’s only natural that my keyboard and shirt are both covered in charcoal. 😛

I’ve been “at it” for three days now and I still haven’t actually started the damn essay. I also have to study for a whole bunch of tests but I’d like to pretend I don’t have to for now please  Really hard to focus, for a change, but the good thing is that I’m feeling better and I’ve managed to do something I like! Sure, it was mostly fueled by the frustration of having to do something I literally have zero interest in doing but that’s still something!

I love Winnie the Pooh. I always have and I ALWAYS WILL! Nothing can replace this bear and his friends in my heart. They can cheer me up like even my favorite bands and ice cream can’t! Right now, I have at least 10 things in my room that have Winnie or the full team on. And back home, in Reunion Island, my bedroom walls are probably still covered in Winnie the Pooh special birthday paper plates (fyi, I didn’t do that, my mom did but I love it :-p !). Anyways so, when I grabbed my sketchbook and charcoal sticks without thinking, the first thing I saw was Winnie having a picnic with Tigger and Piglet and so I drew.

I’m really happy with the result, really. It was a bit rushed and I was trying to remember what I had read a month ago about ways to use charcoal. I’m still very new to it but I think that’s really great. It doesn’t look like a finished product but I don’t mind it. I’m learning to let go, move on. I can be quite a perfectionnist sometimes (Oh, don’t you mean ALWAYS?!) and it’s not always necessary. Sometimes, it’s okay to just leave a first draft like that and move on to something else. I’m learning to be okay with not having to finish something for it to a finished product.

Meaning and beauty can still be found there. And sometimes actually, with being so desperate for a finished, smooth, complete “product”, you end up taking away these two crucial elements. How many times have I butchered what was a really interesting project because I kept feeling that need to smooth out the edges, work more on that color, add a little more details?! I sincerely can’t count them. I’m not saying that it always is bad to do that. What I’m saying is that I need to learn to know when to stop working on a piece and move to the next.

Art doesn’t have to be perfect. And neither do I.

I still have to write that damn essay though… :-/ Wish me luck!

And be brave out there, strive for that imperfect perfection. Keep it raw; embrace the flaws! ❤

P.S.: did I mention that I’m a bit sick? Makes it harder to wanna write that essay 😦 Here’s an awesome quote from an amazing artist to end this post on a brighter note:

Stay beautiful, keep it ugly.

-Gerard Way