Cansaço

                                         
I chose to go down a destructive route because that is all I knew, that was my environment and what I grew up seeing. Getting high was my way of coping, being reckless was my way of feeling alive and not dead inside, and pushing people away was my way of putting up a shield to protect myself from any other mental pain. Reading books, listening music and get to know happier people didnt throw that feeling away. It wasnt about a woman. It wasnt about my parents or etc. It was about me and my self-destruction. So, i destroyed myself with writing. My inner misery grew weaker and weaker while every god damn word that i wrote got even more powerfull and deep. My characters became me in other universes. I tried to act like what im wroting to get rid of my life. Using the words and feelings that i fictioned in my head, started to be my own life. While time recovered all of my wounds, i forgot myself. Time took me from myself for its cost. One day, i woke up at a house i didnt recognize. Searched for a bathroom for a hour. When i found it, i looked into the mirror. I was nothing but a leftover of the past times. Past times that i barely remember. Names, words, colors, drinks. I held my head with my hands, and asked; Who the fuck are you? I found myself with a girl i barely know, with a family had been destroyed and separated and a city that i didnt even know its streets.I realized how much stranger i've got around that wants me happy. I call them stranger 'cause, i've never listened their words. Some of them helped me, but after a while they didnt want to waste their time. Some of them told me that i live and gather my strength from their pains and miseries, then left me. But some of them didnt want to leave while i slowly destroy their lives. They wanted keep me around, maybe not close, but around... Those sudden realizes and loses that came over and over, shocked me pretty good. I am saying good because, it pushed me on the rails of none feels train. I may couldnt be happy at that time, but nor depressed. I've tried and still trying to focus my real life, friends, women that actually loves me and tries to make me happy. Sharing my pain into words with my fingers and my lips. I no longer smoke cannabis, or use hallucinogenic drugs but i do still suffer from insomnia, depression and anxiety and it is more crippling to me than any physical pain i have ever been through. (broken ribs, ankles, wrist, arm, being run over) At the end; not many stories ends with beautiful words like; ''..and today, im feeling very, very powerfull and recovered. Happy with people around me, my family got together and stronger and im so close to find my soulmate. Time is the best cure. Just be patient, it will all go away.'' Unfortunately mine is not one of them. Because life never lets you open a new sheet. I would rather go through all that again, then this.