The Hurting Heart

It seems the misery in me has always been there

Even as I cast my mind to the furthest reaches of memory

I find nothing but self loathing, judgement, and jealousy especially at time when I should have been feeling joy

Mine is a heart which will never heal

The wounds are too deep, too vague, and totally omnipresent

As Robin Williams once said 

It is a wonderful thing, when you yourself feel so much sadness, to try to make others smile and laugh

To know simply by the way they react that they do not feel as sad as you do

For those whom happiness is unattainable

It seems making others happy is the next best thing

I spend a lot of my time trying to respond to people have lent me their ear

On social media, over discord

Trying to give them the hope and self love that I have never known 

Not to say that I always make other people happy

My own tendency to think of my life as inconsequential has caused me to make incredibly careless choices throughout my life

Goals I should not have given up on, friendships which did not need to wither and die, relationships (okay just the one) which hurt more people more than could ever be justified

That last one really hurts me still

After an entire early lifetime of solitude and romantic isolation

To have finally felt wanted by someone 

Only to suffer through a long process of learning that the desire they had for me had almost nothing to do with me 

Just like other times in my life, I was a catalyst

Someone who was there to make someone else feel good

And I felt good too

So for a long time

I thought that was what love was

But now

Shit

I dont know what to think any more

I constantly try to pull myself together

Often times I find some new philosophy or goal which makes me feel purpose driven and good for a period of time 

A day

A week

An hour

And then

I happen

I come back 

I return to who I am, who I have always been

The kid in the corner too shy to say anything and too awkward to contribute anything 

The melodramatic teenager with the resting suicide face

The love sick adult pissing away their entire life for the sake of someone who did not have a life or love to give

And I almost wish the hope never happened

Sometimes I try to pretend like it didn't

Because I can deal with the pain of failure

I breathe that shit like air

But what Im less used to is thinking there's a light at the end of the tunnel

Thinking I have finally found the person philosophy or place which accepts me and cherishes me for who I am and all I am 

Then I fuck it up

And Im back here

Writing shitty poetry at 3 am with no structure or art in sight 

Wishing I could find an end to this sickness

And knowing I never will

I've tried the medications

I've tried the therapy

I've tried the intensive care units

Nothing works

I dont work

There's not enough human in me left to save

I only hope I can keep this lie up long enough that the people in my life who have made the mistake of genuinely loving me

Can pass on in peace, and know less shame for me than I do for myself

Hallelujah,

Holy Shit

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