Sometimes I think it's impossible for me to be content with myself.
I spend a lot of the time trying to manage my thoughts, trying to convince myself that I can walk into a supermarket and buy apples without debating the purpose of life. It's exhausting.
It's exhausting because I'm fighting with myself, and I am the only person I can't run away from. I have to stay.
I have to learn to love all of it - and it's such an unbearable pain to love the things you hate because you have no other choice.
I know what others mean when they tell me I am strong-minded, or that I am special, they're telling me they're sorry that I had to endure this and survive it.
They're sorry that I have to have tea with the monsters inside and pretend that everything is okay when I know that one day they’ll explode in an inferno that’d burn me and everyone around me.
they're sorry that I have to learn to love a life I question, that I take bullets in the mouth yet always the willpower to speak out pieces of advice to the people I love most.
I know what they mean, and I’ve always wanted to tell them that no one would want to feel special if special meant asking the people we love to leave us alone.
no one wants to feel special if special means feeling trapped in suffering, suffering produced by your own self, your own self that set the standards for success too high,
till the point that a normal person’s success is a miserable failure for yourself,
till the point that buying apples to follow your diet without thinking about the darkness flowing inside becoming today’s greatest challenge