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Me, Myself and I

"So many years of education, yet no one taught us how to love ourselves."

We were brought into this fucked up world not knowing where we'd end up, and mother forgive me. But every breath I took after you gave birth to me was my own. People like to take credit for everything they've done for you and sometimes make you feel like a burden that they chose to bring into this life.

I will never feel bad for myself for everything I've been through or even blame myself for how I chose to live and deal with my own demons. It's the thoughts, the emotions and everything else that comes along with it.

We can love people, our friends, family and all. At the end of the day, all I have is myself. All you have is yourself. Make your breaths of air count, make this life count. Make sure that if you end up dying today or whenever; because lets me real, life isn't promised. Timing means nothing because it doesn't exist. It's just another number.

Remember how we all thought the world was going to end because of the Egyptian calendar didn't expand to its horizons? What's the purpose to this life other than life and death? Make it count, stop fearing life, stop fearing to live. We're so scared to live!!! I'd rather die doing what makes me happy most or by surprise because I've done most that I wanted to. If I died today over something, then I know I really lived.

I'd be happy if for some fucked up reason I was taken out by a bullet. I finally found my pursuit of living; I have a reason and purpose to push myself to my fullest limit. I am a creator of my own destiny. All the pain, all the anger, all of the trauma and triggers. They paid off.

I can resonate with so many people in the world, you know how happy that makes me? When people randomly just hit me up out of nowhere, pouring their hearts and souls to me. When they ask for my advice and help. All I wanted was to be the help to others the way the system have failed me. Yes therapy has helped me grow; a lot and I'm going to give credit where it's due. But it's so hard to be able to find a suiting therapist.

I've had so many of them that I lost count of who they were. Not to mention, you have to have money for just one hour of a session. The suicide hotline didn't even help me but called the ops on me and locked me up again. I grew up being another stigma, another number in the system. Maybe parts of me will always be part of it. But I refuse to die a victim, I refuse to die a suspect. I will die knowing damn straight I was a hero.

Both my grandpas died heros. Well I'm not sure if the one on my mom's side is alive, I hope to find him one day to see if I have another family to call home again. He was/is black. I don't know his name or anything about him. All I know is he saved my mom in all her dreams after she had me. He built streets during the Vietnam war, he was part of the army and that's how he met my grandma. And I know that, that love was real. Grams was a rider. She made sure all of his information, all of their memories were a discreet.

Love has no rules, regulations or limits. It's one of the purest emotions. Love is not an emotion. It's a thought process. It's a place, a person and thing. Love is not an emotion because it's all emotions combined.

My other grandpa from my dad's side in Vietnam, he died trying to put out the neighbors house of the fire. He died a fucking hero. That's all I know, that's what I've known all my life. The way that this family has mad love for me. I always hear stories about him, I have so memories with him and pictures and videos. It was his death anniversary the other day. When my cousin from Vietnam told me about it, I was conflicted and confused. I've been working on this. I haven't the time to sit down to feel anything or call my family in Vietnam.

I say time feels funny for me all the time. I say I don't run on time because I don't. I just keep going. But when dates appear and I look at them, I remember every single event and memory. All these emotions, these thoughts and sides come out. I see one small things such as date and suddenly... the pain comes back. Everything comes back in wave lengths. Everything hurts all over again. I wish I can turn off how I remember things.

I wish the drugs, the alcohol numbed the pain like it once it did. But it doesn't. Nothing makes me forget anything that happened. I see old faces. I see everything people put me through. That's all I see when I see their name and faces. I remember the good they've done and I'll be grateful for that. At the same time, all these people put me through literal hell. They brought me so much more pain and sadness than happiness.

I held on for so long even when it hurt because I was convinced that was real love. That how I felt about people is real love because I am more than capable of giving of it, knowing it. But what I've always been hard to deal with is receiving it and/or accepting it. I can't ever come to terms to people or the world truly loving me. I'm constantly thinking that the world is after me or want something more than just what I'm already giving. Whether it's love, sex, or whatever it is. Everyone wants something from me. I don't know what it is. So I push away love. I run from it all the time. It's weird for me to love people and I show it in odd ways.

I prove my love through actions instead of just words because everyone can just put words together. All I want now, is to die for a reason, I want to die doing what I love or for a reason. A purpose. I want to die for the right reasons, not the wrong ones. Maybe if I did die today or tomorrow, in this instant then people will truly understand why I was or am the way I am. It's just one of those days.

I've been drinking a lot again. Some of the reasons being the death anniversaries of my loved ones died. Another is I noticed how sick my uncle was. He has always been one of my role models. He has always been there for me. He took me in as his own. He gave me everything my parents and father failed to give me growing up. Even now, he does so much for everyone else. He provides for everyone. When I see him, I see a reflection of myself sometimes. He suppresses all his own personal problems and emotions.

He does everything he can to survive, to put food on the table for others. He does what he can so other people can have things first and/or all of it. It makes me sad having to be home and having to see it. I hate seeing peoples suffering and pain and not being able to change it or fix it. I hate seeing people I love hurt and go through things that they feel isn't worth talking about...

But who is going to hold me when I feel this way?


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