On the road again

We're moving on. Feels wrong staying here with another person for any longer, and I'm probably stuck with the kid. Says something about a ghost? I don't even know. 

I was never much of a Runner, as such. No rules to it or real compulsion except restlessness and a want to gather stories. I used to hang around the Runners' camps a lot. Did some research into the odd sort of society that can arise from such situations. I've got notebooks and notebooks full of notes  and stories and such. Hell, most of my luggage is that kind of thing.

When I was younger, I felt like I was genuinely capable of changing the world. I was one of the first people in my family to be able to go to college, you know? That had to count for something. Unfortunately, my main driving force over the past few years has been a disgust for the person I'd become. At least it's helped me get things done. I know it's not healthy. If anyone knows that, it's me.

I wish I was better at this. Better at being a person, but focusing on others and trying to help them is what's gotten me through this so far. Life has always been like... if we were in an airplane and the pressure started to go out, my first instinct would be to make sure that others had their oxygen mask on first. It's who I was... am?

It got worse over the last few years, to the point where I legitimately stopped caring about myself except in the context of other people for a little while. After all, I had no inherent value except what I could do for someone else, my brain said. Be the fucking therapist, right?

It was stupid, and I've been working past it. Depression is never easy when you don't have some way to deal with it. much less when you're alone and worried for your life. I do feel like I've never done the things that I'm capable of, but with the way things are, I likely won't get the chance. 

Got a little rambly there. That's why I don't blog. It's either too guarded,or too close to lowering defenses that life's taught you that you need.

But yes, traveling again. Brat's not in the best way, so I figured I'd let anyone bothering to read this know what's up. 

(the trees have eyes)

(i dream about them sometimes)

I don't always sleep easily. I have crippling regrets. Most of them happened when I was "asleep." The fact that I sleep at all is purely born of the biological need. I hate sleeping, I hate rest, I hate wasting seconds where I could be doing something.

(fire; warm comfort licking the hair off your skin)

Sometimes I ask to be monitored. Sometimes I walk a line I can't stop. I've checked myself into insane asylums - multiple. But those are even worse for me. The sickness gathers there like sludge on the doors. No child's eyes are more haunted than when restricted to the cool, padded walls of an inescapable place.

(they see you, they always see)

Faking sanity's never been hard. Given enough practice at imitation and anything's possible. But I always remember the things I want to forget when I'm asleep.

(it's no different - the trees watch them and they are so alone. so so alone. they are there and you are here and isn't that such an injustice? no one deserves to be there more than you)

Hell.

Some nights I lie awake and wish I were in Hell instead of the people I put there. Sometimes I think of the last glance they gave me. Of their parting wishes. Of the ways they asked me to respect them in their Deaths.

Sometimes I lie awake and I still hear their voices. Clear and bright as the midday sun. Some of them want to drag me down with them. Some of them want me to stand up straight and tall. Be strong in their stead. Most nights I wish the echoes of guilt would just shut. the fuck. up.

(your fault...)