People have strange ways of protecting all they value. Even if sometimes it involves hurting those in their paths. I know she meant well, but her poor choice of words, her actions; the way she portrayed and dumped her trauma through me and my experience, caused us both suffering. Traumatic and draining suffering.
No amount of therapy, no amount of pills prescribed by a white-coat stranger to help swallow the pain and the trauma, no apologies or sympathy, will ever be enough to cure from the unreversible damage caused.
Years of living with my own mind and the toxic dump left to rot my brain has taken its toll, no alcohol, no therapist, no Sunday morning walk can help me anymore.
Be kind, have self-love, find happiness. That is what I most yearn. And although I try to keep a positive outlook, I know those things are too far to reach. Actually, they are parallel to me, miles and miles away.
All of this because of a blinding pill taken when I was 17, a pill called love.
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Pale Blue Love
Non-FictionLove has such a chokehold. Fairytales have paint it in such a way that, even the most clevder believe that, if given the efort, love will prevail. I have found that you cannot keep a love that does not want to be kept. They will do anything in their...
