GIRL WITH REFLECTIONS: a confession

if i thought 2021 was disturbing, i dont even know what to call 2022. a nightmare from hell? a shitshow? a wakeup call that were all supposed to be fucking miserable in this lifetime and all we can do is to learn to live with this heaviness?

i dont even FUCKING know at this point.

in retrospect, maybe 2021 wasnt as horrible as i had made it out to be – a depressing exaggeration of one-sided fights (in my head) with my boyfriend; hiding in my closet (literally), my refuge and safe haven from this unkind world; a belief that happiness is fleeting, an unattainable goal that we blindly chase with a false sense that we would ever achieve said “happiness.”

maybe 2021 wasnt as horrible as i had thought (maybe i would have posted more if “fun” was absolutely nonexistent in my life or maybe its the benzos that have literally obliterated my short-term memory, which recognizes sadness and anger more than the positive emotions). for someone whos cherished memories and feeling for all my life (heart on my sleeve or whatever BS), its ironic how much ive induced my own amnesia (is this my heaven or hell?).

in times of loneliness and trauma, my first instinct had always been to write in order to release those toxic, bottled up emotions that live rent free in my little low IQ mind. maybe i have nothing left to say anymore, or i realize that my words dont matter.

i let my thoughts rot, letting them devour my braincells as i weep to myself in a corner – and it doesnt fucking matter.

so today i take relief in klonopin, to make myself more of a smooth brain, to feel less so i could be “normal” and mildly functional.

i crave floating on clouds with quiet, nonintrusive thoughts: nothing matters, nothing exists. not you, not me, just complete silence.

and lately, numbness is my only retreat – to feel absolute nothing (the cleanest feeling in the world imo), to continue existing in my dreamworld where people we have lost are just “traveling to a foreign land” and not gone (forever), fantasy fueled by pills and time-traveling for days at a time because life is fucking miserable.

so heres my question for whatever this shitty ass universe has to offer, only to collect our miseries and suffering: am i supposed to expect that each year gets worse and worse or am i a spoiled little bitch that always needs to have her way? or do i just lack appreciation or awareness for the moments as they unwind in real time, only to reflect later: “it wasnt so bad.”

its the high highs and low lows with no sense of middle ground or stability, rollercoaster of emotions torpedoing over my life.

but the high highs – those moments make life bearable. “tiny dots on an endless timeline.”

just tiny dots, endless timeline – moments worth remembering, moments well pine the rest of our lives for knowing well never get them back, moments wed rather obliterate, concealed in the shadows of our minds.

looking back, 2021 wasnt awful at all – breakdowns (yes, of fucking course) but also cherished memories with those who are still here and those we will reunite with on the other side.

im not okay. im absolutely not fucking okay, but ill plaster on a fake dollfaced smile, and when people ask me how im doing, the autoresponse so theyd not interrogate further: “im fine.”

im fine. just fine. nothing is wrong, and nothing exists.

GFY, fleur (on klonopin)

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