Self-destructive behaviour gives me some sort of catharsis that laughs in the face of resilience. I've got 99 problems, much like Jay Z, and probably much like everyone else on the face of this planet. But when it comes to a decision between sitting there in a bucket of venom or getting up and taking proactive measures to feel better, I usually choose the former, if at least for a bit. If you'll allow me the irony, there's something about self-destruction that makes me feel good, so darkly good. The pain I feel is magnified tenfold yet it simultaneously stops looming so large over the horizon of my life. I'm pleased when my mind races to places it shouldn't race to, I like the adrenaline rush that comes with paranoia. I feel human in those moments, I feel like myself.
I luxuriate in the throaty burn of one part reality and two parts gin.
One of my favorites thus far. So honest and raw.
ReplyDeleteLove.