cycles: the excuse you use when you ghost all your friends to avoid breaking up with your boyfriend

something to bury myself in. surely you can find the nasty pit of my soul underneath all this muck. I cant find it. dissociation isn't an identity but I still use it as a signature on legal documents. I don't know who I am without my vices or addictions, my cycles. I use them as shields. they prevent me from forming any thought of recovery or better life. I don't need a better life, I like what I have, its just me who's the issue. oh the life to lead if I had a different brain and body. "But you can have that life", I hear you say yet that's just hearsay. I am my undoing. I am not going to get better, that is my curse and my blessing. I am my victim and killer. I don't need anybody to kill me when I am perfectly capable of doing it myself. I do not need anybody. I am a wallflower, unnecessary and unheard. I do not need anybody. I am content falling by my own hand. I will bury myself and I will dig myself out and when I am above the earth again there will be nobody to celebrate my rebirth because I have pushed them all to push daisies. am I to get better? is recovery a possible road? possibly but I wont ever take it. it's always on my map but the longer roads I have to walk always call my name a certain way that just sounds so sweet I can't control myself. I can never control myself.

woe, my unadulterated self-pity be upon ye. woefully pathetic are my writings and ramblings. to sum up/reintroduce my initial thesis: cycles are my addiction and addictions are my cycles.

change is a beast that tears up the roots of the stability you planted before you were a person. I can't remember what my brain used to be like before I started descending this spiral staircase. I remember a conversation of recovery, a loving talk with an ex about change. a stream of "what if's." what if we stopped hurting ourselves, stopped using these uppers and downers so dependently, stopped depriving our bodies of happy tastes. what if we walked down the road of recovery together. we never did, we romanticized the path of most resistance and became the monsters that taught us to chew, rather than lick our wounds.

recovery is a beast I want to kill with my bare hands. sanity, what a joke. its a myth that lurks in the back of my head. one day I'm going to slaughter the things that keep me alive. I am going to destroy the cycles that pump the blood in and out of my body. I will break these chains disguised as veins and breathe something that isn't smoke or cut lines. one day I am going to eat a sandwich and not feel the rocks of guilt in my gut.

for now i'll settle for being the stubborn monster that antidepressants try to kill and push everything and everyone away til the very end of time. that is my life that I create for myself; one of cycles and addiction.