At times I am a bit unwell. Mind is in an altered state I am quite aware of and able to specify the disturbances of my subconscious. The awareness does not lesson the symptoms. I'll lay here in my chair, weak, oh how I do at time detest this body. I'll stare at my husband and wish I could tell him how much I do love him, oh how I do love him. The words come out, unable to give the meaning I'm placing on them, that value.
A man behind an IM windows whom I've spoken with and consider one of my better of best friends, taps every now and again. He enjoys conversation and company, I'm terrified of it. Yet I do feel lonely and oh how I am guilty for not better elaborating my enjoyment of his company, fear or not.
I'm growing, I'm also withering. As the days pass on I try to better myself without purpose but the relief of others. I would get so angry not long ago because I was disappointed. All I had wanted was my work to have an affect on those whom viewed it. I didn't want to be told how good I was, what I did right or wrong. I just wanted to somehow, in some small way open a bubble in people's brains. You can get upset about many things, but shouting at people doesn't open the ears.
I'm at times referred as a hypocrite for my views, my newfound need for patience and expanding character. I am yielded to my past and who I was no matter the realm or time of perspective. The past can define ourselves but it will not bind ourselves. My head has been hurting, on the left side. Lights are too bright. I have an hour and all I can think of is how much kindness I've been granted. I want to regret what I've showed for it. I want to be happy I was afforded it.