That is the greatest pain of all– to feel that your actions have caused another heartache. Its not love that calls me back to him, but the desire to help him. I see that. I feel the desperation that suffering incurs. And that is where depression comes in. That old poison masked as a friend.
Its better to feel. Its important to feel, but my mind longs to feel nothing– because it looks like escape to me. One more day, one more 9 to 5, one more week, one more moment. It all seems like a horrible cycle of endlessness now.
Maybe it is a gift that my memory is so fickle. The pain can’t last forever, because moments slip from my mind so freely and memories lose their grip on my heart.
things get better.
