continuously and endlessly digging their way into my life. I try so hard to fill them, to bury them underground until they're no longer visible, unless of course you look deeper, and you see it was just a broken person hurriedly trying to cover up their flaws, their mistakes. The more holes I try to fill the more that appear. It's a never ending cycle of despair and then repair. An empty heart here, a strange home there. Filling a hole that isn't ready to be covered up is like covering a bullet hole with a bandaid. You can fool yourself into thinking you'll heal, but a bandaid will only cover what's on the surface. The true extent of grief and sorrow will never heal until you dig deeper and uncover every anguished feeling pushed down by self doubt. I'm not dumb. That means that while I've lived on this earth for a meer 15 years, I know that when I lie saying, I'm okay, it will all get better, I'm not only lying to everyone around me, but to myself. Instilling the false hope that one day all my holes will be filled and I'll be content.
