I must be feeling better. It’s getting harder to write. How I wish this was not the case. Why must I be damaged to be creative? Why do I need the pain to be my best interlectually? I’m gonna fight through it. I love to write. Really love it. It gives me that all important space between brain and mouth and generally stops me making a prick of myself. Not always I’ll grant you. Sometimes my written words have got me in trouble too.

None more so than in the last few months when my need to express myself culminated in a bulldozer going through my life like a hot knife through butter. Was it fair? Probably not. I did nothing bad except express my sorrow and pain to the person behind its cause. But these days you’re not allowed to do that. You are not allowed to express yourself to anyone who might not want to be reminded of stuff they would rather forget. Even the good stuff, which always outweighed the bad.

No matter if you’ve previously written over 7000 emails, 27000 texts and shared however many photos and memories. I’ve recently found another 2000 pics I never shared on my SLR memory card. It’s my natutal instinct to create a net share and offer these memories too, but to do so would put my very freedom at risk. Has the world gone mad? How can that be a crime? They are her memories as much as mine but only I will ever see them now. Not that I can bring myself to browse them all. As much as I acknowledge that I am finally starting to heal I cannot yet look back at them with any fondness. The pain caused to me was the greatest I have ever known, and all avoidable if handled correctly. But I guess there was no time for that. Not when you are busy falling in love and driving daggers bone deep into good hearts.

I’ve never and will never understand how a person that you have shared everything with, forgiven, loved and cared for just wakes up one day and decides you no longer exist.  Does it make everything that happened before meaningless? False, plastic and fake? Or do I suffer from such an illness it’s only me that thinks this is impossible to do? I hope not. The world might as well be full of droids and clones if this be true. I feel things to my very core. I think I always have done. I think that’s why I have felt the need to dumb everything down with whatever did the job. Be it booze, weed or coke. I feel too much, therefore I hurt too much too and when things go pear-shaped, I erect my wall and say none shall pass. Those I finally let in have not only had the keys of entry, but also the power to leave and lock me inside my own wall, alone and isolated.

Why do I always put my faith in the wrong people? How can a smart, successful guy like me get it so wrong so often?  I don’t have the answer, I wish I did. Then of course I’d do something about it. But this goes full circle, like many things in my life have seemed to. I can’t choose to just take the good and not the bad. It’s not a pick’n’mix. It’s my life, and life is not always tranquil or easy, just like I imagine yours isn’t either. I’m not a saint, but I’m not a sinner either. I have always said that if I’m 51% happy in a relationship then it’s a good relationship. I’m a realist as much I am a hopeless dreamer.

Maybe I just need to wise the fuck up. I try to always see things from the other point of view, but that’s only possible when the other point of view is a balanced one. I can’t think like an empty or broken person until I am one myself. And why must I allow myself to become that just to see what the other person sees?

I’m sure there is fine line between love and hate, but it’s not one I am  prepared to cross. I will not cut off my own ear just so I can paint it. I will not only be creative when I am damaged.

I’ve nearly finished this post I didn’t think I could write, perhaps I can also find a way to understand and get over the other stuff that I find hard too.

My head is clear and I’m still drug-free, save for the anti-depressants that have been propping me up, and I’m already cutting that dosage down. I’m done with chemical walls and safety nets.

One foot in front of the other, and repeat. When you strip it all down I know I’m a pretty amazing guy. I have done stuff others will only ever dream about, and I know I am a good person. Complex? Yes. Bad? Absolutely not. I’m told constantly I am ‘too soft’. It’s a trait I’m willing to accept because there is no other way I can live. I will take the good with the bad.

And the only person that ever needs to be certain I am amazing is me. I must find a way to always know that and allow myself some self-love and not to seek it in those that will take my power and destroy me with it.

I may have lost my way but I’m heading along the right path I know.

And when I get there, I hope I will never lose myself again.