Cliffs with edges

Tonight while viewing my blog page my eyes veered to the “tags” section of my previous posts and I got so scared. Is this my life? Binge, purge, suicidal thoughts, sadness, depression and other gut wrenching words. I for a moment could not believe it and I stepped outside of myself and viewed it as someone other than me and I saw just how sad, empty and dangerous my life is and how the behaviours I engage in are so serious and so very deeply entrenched it has become a way of life with the occasional futile effort to rectify my situation. I felt sorry for this fragmentary girl whose afflictions have become the author of who she is, I felt sorry for myself.

It’s not a question of who we are, it’s who we want to be but in this moment I am those tags- sad, angry, suicidal, depressed. I am that. It would be a tragedy for the downward spiral to keep spiraling up until that stage where I have that look in my eye, that look when you see someone walking down the street and you can tell their life story and in their eyes you can see them questioning “how did I get here”.

The reward for dancing on cliffs with edges is consequence. The unknown is always desirable but in this context, I’d rather not know more hurt especially the kind that is disguised as a new leaf or new avenues to be explored when it’s just another dead end.

I desperately want to grasp something that’s real.

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