She Is Done

 Chapter 51 in The Fade

            I believe that this one explains itself. I am tired of the past draining me till the well has run dry. The water inside is gone and all that remains is dust. 

            Anxiety and depression are a weird combination to have. 

            I don't really have much to say this time. I may go silent for a while. I am not feeling all that wonderful. The days are just kind of passing, and I'm just a helpless wanderer here. 

    

            I am afraid of just existing and not living. Going through the motions of life just to get by and not actually doing anything with this life I have. I wrote a book for fucks sake, and where am I with all of it? 

            Too afraid to put my voice out there in an audio version. Too terrified to reach out for help to get it out there to more people. Scared to have more people read the words I've written. Afraid of my truth. Afraid of putting myself out there. 

            But what is the point of anything that I have done if I do not do anything with it? It will just sit there collecting dust. Just as I lay here anxious. 

            I need to take a jump. I need to jump and stop being afraid of the fall. 

Could You Love Me?

            Chapter Two in The Fade

            I genuinely have no idea what to say. I feel this one speaks on its own. I have nothing else to say. Let the words I've written speak for me. 

            Take what you've read and make it into whatever meaning you wish it to be. 

            I still feel odd. Writing like this instead of saying "she." I write as myself without her being the face of it. It feels personal. Maybe too personal for me... 

            I said that I fear love. I do not fear the love I give to my family and to my friends. No... The love I fear is the love of a partner. The love between two souls that fall in love. Is it silly? Ridiculous? Absurd? Maybe... I miss that kind of love. The love I once had, but I do not miss him. I miss loving someone that way, but I do not miss him. 

            

            The one I once held dear to my heart... In a lot of ways made me fearful of loving someone again. Allowing someone close. He would always say that I was broken. He would always put me down any chance he could get. To him, nothing I did was ever good enough. 

            So with this story...Could you love me? 

            Will you love the broken pieces of me as I love the broken parts of you? Will you mend them back together as I stitch yours closed? Our lives are not perfect. We are sometimes broken and fragile things, but take my hand. Together... Lets make something grand.