We are all wounded.
We are all fucked-up.
We are all scarred.
Some of us are a hell of a lot more jacked than others. And not all of our scars are on the outside.
Some of us are equipped to deal with it.
Some of us are not.
Some of us don’t even want to try.
We try to tend to our wounds, control our persons in our own ways…
Some drink; some get sober.
Some starve; some binge.
Some find Jesus; some lose Him.
Some chose to sleep alone; other choose to sleep with anyone/everyone rather than be alone.
Some are adrenalin junkies, crowd seekers; some become hermits.
Some draw, paint, write, create.
And some of us wake up to a tear drenched pillow yet again, but don’t remember crying…
Some of us do any combination and/or all of the above in our lives.
These are our realities…
How we dull the pain…
Silence the noise …
The ways in which we attempt to overtake that which threatens to overtake us…
For all its potential, this world can be such an ugly place sometimes.
It’s up to us to find / carve out our own individual niches of beauty within it, to survive the best we can during our time here because the alternative sucks and neither side has a reset.
Found this written on a paper tucked in a book while I was cleaning. I hadn’t read the book in years, so I’m not sure when I actually wrote it, but it was definitely my handwriting.
I scare me sometimes.