Decisions are Disastrous

As it turns out, my typing skills are beginning to become out of sync with what they once were. I would like to pretend the blame lies in the mess known as my keyboard, but that is unnecessarily unfair to an inanimate object. How is it going to defend itself anyway? By breaking apart even more? It's not the poor keys' fault that my decision making flies out the window with a shot or two or ten. That does, unfortunately, leave the problems to be my burden, my choice.

I could type better, faster, like I used to if only I understood motivation.

What I understand instead is falling victim to my own demented, rapidly crippling thoughts. Those demons we call inner ones that fail to look monstrous in comparison to so many others out there. Tomorrow will be better, I swear; leave me to wallow for tonight. Ease accompanies ideas that fail to require much effort, much thought, much of anything at all really if we're being truthful about the matter. 

I am to blame for myself, that is not something that I can place on someone else.

The thought behind the matter is that maybe, just maybe, if it was someone's idea beyond my own it would be acceptable. Surely a nameless person out there somewhere has a better picture of where this is all going, where it's all shambling towards. One grotesque, angled step in the wrong direction at a time; this is how we spell disaster without a d. It is not as if those that are affected by the picture couldn't see it coming. After all, bad judgment calls lined up back to back speak volumes.

I would scream, but then only the ghosts I haunt myself would hear me.

Being aware of the degree to which you should not feel haunted, horrible, or horrendous to is crushing. Emotions are a wave bent out of shape, waiting to drown as many victims as possible. Logic deems that this is all in our heads; worming around in our minds. It is, however, not real at all, just another faulty dream. People like to say that things like this get easier with time, the picture gets clearer, the edge of the world gets far enough way to not seem like you're on the brink. The problem with this is that when you're caught up in a storm, all that extra ground looks more like extra bumps to be hit by along the way back down.

I keep planning on running away from that edge, but all I do is find a new cliff.

 Not that I am particularly fond of what I find in the end, I've just grown accustomed to the inevitable. Being at the brink of a downfall is not, fortunately, the same as free falling down just to see what will happen. There is safety in the land; tangled up messily with the negativity hanging around. Safety is movable though, it can turn up in the strangest of locations regardless of what some may believe. Not every action results in a large scale change in the world, but miniscule levels of joy can still be spread due to the tiniest of actions.

I am not my biggest fan, that doesn't mean I dislike living.

Being surrounded by frustrating thoughts and feelings of inadequacy is problematic, troublesome even. It does not mean that I am prepared to cross over into the unknown, just that I am not secure in my own skin. Life is, over all, something worth living even on the darkest days. There seems to be some worry on occasion that my sinking levels of self worth, of joy, of everything are too bleak. Then there's the reverse where someone so chipper, so full of sunshine can have a down day, can want to crawl into a hole and never want to come back out.

I am what I am; a disaster, a monster, another every day girl.

Average is in the eye of the beholder, along with everything else along the personality and looks scale. What you see in yourself only impacts the view of others so much in the short run, in the long run; the latter is a bit shakier though, not everyone is strong enough to deal with constant hate. Points of views are here to shake feelings up, people up, the world up just for the sake of letting us be different. And today, well, today I am one more mistake figuring myself out.