It’s Okay.

As we age and mature we realize that what we planned sometimes do not go the way we want.

We lose people in our lives, we gain new friends and we learn to fail and move on with life.

I lost a friend I’ve had for years and years and only then did I realize that the person that I lost was not the person that I became friends with.

People change and sometimes it’s hard to accept that but we have to realize we ourselves change as well.

People ask me if I’m okay losing such a close friend and why I refuse to work things out with her.

I thought about it thousands of times, should I contact her, should I accept her apology and restart from there?

Sometimes though, unfortunately, it isn’t worth the effort anymore.

You can miss someone and not want them back after all.

It took months of uncertainty, of missing the precious memories, but that’s what they are, memories that we obviously could not recreate or replace with anymore good ones.

I took the good memories with me and I left before the bad things can ruin even those.

Only I know what’s good for me and I know that cutting people out of my life is a difficult choice but sometimes these are decisions that will work for you in the long run.



I read my past posts and back then I thought I would get better overtime.

I’m writing this exhausted, beaten down by the world. The same world strips me naked and eventually I don’t even have my own skin to hide behind in.

I want to give up but my stubborn self keeps pushing to go forward, uncaring if what will end up there is only a piece of me that survived the journey.

I see everything with a darkened view, I hear everything filtered through possibly the devil’s mouth and feel everything too cold and too hot.


130 mph

It’s the rush, I think, that I enjoy. I appreciate the quiet in my life but once in a while I just crave something to get my adrenaline pumping and heartbeat pounding.

I’m possibly the most careful person I know within my family and acquaintances, but there are nights where I drive back home in the darkest hour of the day, fast enough that everything is a blur and I can never tell if that’s the speed I’m going or if it’s me.

Sometimes I hold back these urges for so long that when I give in, by the end of the night I’m hysterically laughing out my window against the wind, feeling like nothing can hurt me.

It’s the excitement, the excitement of having secrets, the excitement of the possibility of destroying myself.

Normally I’ll stay away from this but when I give in, it’s the best feeling in the world.