Uncertain whether or not I've been victimizing myself, I have terrible luck, or my life really, sucks - just like genuinely sucks - I've been stuck in this whole I dug for myself. Either way, I have to work through this on my own.
Self medicating via vices is just as momentary and voluntary as the pain that I attempt to suppress. Though these pains penetrate my exterior and feed off of my soul, it is of my own doing. It has always been easy to put on my mask and most robotically say, "I'm fine," but it's different now. I'm not fine. All of the things I'd previously suppressed have come back stronger than my love for self, my hatred for this discomfort and the wrath of a woman scorned, all in one.
I never learned how to cope. The Board of Education never offered a course for that in school. No shoulder to cry on without judgment. To the wolves they threw us. I'd given the idea of therapy a quick thought, however, I do not believe that I am in need of therapy, but something therapeutic.
Peace of mind: how do we attain this? I believe that peace of mind is a personal journey, of which I have denied myself the privilege. Maybe I have yet to tap into that piece of mind that tells you it's time. I suppose it may be out of fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of the possible risks. I've come to accept this lackluster life, to the point that i am intimidated by the changes I'd have to make, no matter how potentially freeing they may be, in order to obtain a better quality of life.
The potential for growth is always there. We just ... I just need to harvest it.