i thought i could do it;
i thought i could do it; sadness stories
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methodicals
methodicalswattpad: @methodicals
Autoplay OFF  •  9 months ago
or, at least, i told myself i could. but it's not so easy to fix what's broken.

i thought i could do it;

poem by methodicals

Or, at least, I told myself I could.

I told myself that eventually, I could continue to hang on, fight on, and smile on.

But first, let's start at the beginning. Let's start with the fact that sadness is not just a weekend getaway. You don't choose to visit it, and you don't choose to leave it.

You don't get to choose anything when it comes to pain. So, please, don't blame us for it. Don't blame me.

Don't tell me that I should be happy, or that I should drop, it, or that I should ignore it, or that I should get help. Because you don't know me, plain and simple — you have no idea.

Pain, I think, is an island. A vacated, barren, brown spot of land sitting among the black waters of my mind.

I found it when I was drowning, wanting to scream but unable to, kicking, but the more I kicked the farther down I went.

So I let go, and I let myself float and sink and wander to where the waves wanted to take me. It led me to the island where I pulled myself up, coughing and sputtering and crying.

Me, lying there on gray sand, watching life go on without me. Because far, far in the distance, there was a green paradise, lush and alive and bright. Full of possibilities. Hope. Love.

My heart yearned and push and pulled to go there. I could go there. All I had to do was was stand up, and enter the dark water once more.

But, looking at where I was ... how far I had to go ... and it was, so, so far ... too far. The longer I Iooked, the more I despaired, so I tore my gaze away.

Just for a little while, I'd stay here. I needed to rest. Because I was tired of swimming, my bones aching with exhaustion. Soon, I'd continue to swim. Soon, I'd keep trying.

But not now.

Everyday, that's what I kept saying to myself. Not now, I'm not ready. Not now, not now, not now. I'm not ready, I'm not ready, I'm not ready.

So, you see, I thought I could do it. Or, at least, I told myself I could.

Pain, I think, is an island. And I stayed there meaning for a vacation. I've ended up making a home out of it.

Do you believe me now?

Because listen to me when I say.

Sadness, grief, sorrow — they are not, and will never be, just a weekend getaway.

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