Due to the life I’ve lived and my personal experiences I am not, by nature, a positive individual. This blog is seldom seen as a ray of sunshine in a dreary world, but more of a less faint look into the blackness of my life and why. I’m not looking for sympathy or a hand out, in fact I’ve learned to live on my own without too much external emotional support.
I am in a prison of my mind. The walls have been built little by little since the age of 10. The bars strengthened by my mistakes and the locks soldered solid by my mental condition.
I am alive, technically, but don’t ever remember a substantial part of life being necessarily positive. There have been breaks between the anguish, moments of joy, peace. The little bit of positivity I once held escaped through the cracks in the limestone rock that comprise this cramped and dank, damp, dark place.
Even the meds I take to hold depression and bipolar disorder at bay seem to lose effectiveness. Why am I getting up each day? Whats the reason to live? I’m just a useless bag of air that cannot shut up. I bore myself too!
Well I did say I wasn’t very positive.
The Place to be Real 