the burdensome anxiety that is my life, presses upon my stomach like the birth given female trait none of us wish to be "blessed" with. it tightens my intestines and makes me sick as if the ***** i wish i had had been severely kicked.
I have grown accustomed to calming myself down and panicing all in the same minute and i have watched my world crumble in front of me and rebuild all in the same minute. and i start to grow tired of the routine.
the inconsistency that has been ****** upon me unwillingly makes me feel vulnerable like i did when I was small and fragile wondering why he had touched me in places i was told were sacred.
nothing is ever planned and every moment is random but why do i feel like someone's sole intention is to see me without sanity. every moment could be sickness every day could be happiness every instance could be a trigger.
So what is the beauty of living if not to prepare yourself for the inevitable, what is the meaning of life if not ineffable? I have found sanity, in dark paths of my past. I have found insanity in calm nights alone. and somehow even in times i was close to death, clenching a bottle to my chest i realized that hell probably feels a lot like home.