It’s hard to be brave all day long, everyday. It’s hard to feel so exhausted and so broken, like your soul was shattered apart in a million, billion, trillion pieces that now are spreading all around the floor, so tiny and so fragile you feel like they may just fly away from you with the most lightly wind blow. It’s like you’re going to lose yourself and you don’t even have strength to keep your own self together; to maintain your soul within you when appears it wants to break away.
Its hard to put yourself aside to take care of someone else. Someone else’s needs, someone else’s health, someone else’s emotional crisis. But never yours, never your pain, never your life, never yourself on the first place. It’s hard to do much more than you can for people who do the minimum, if so. It’s hard when nobody seems to believe you, when nobody seems to care. It’s like people are always satisfied with the comfort zone of seeing your outside and project your inside that when you try to talk to someone, they immediately reject you and fall in a constant denial.
It’s hard to always feels you’re living on the edge, walking on the life-dead tightrope, waiting on the brink of a suicidal abyss, betting with fate who gets tired of your mediocre life first. It’s hard to deal with being so in need of help and so abandoned as much as being proud of making it all alone, all by yourself, all this time until today, even so tomorrow is an instable, unpredictable, scary as hell, surprise. It’s hard to see people wasting time, wasting a live, living it poorly and not taking any good, when for you life is such a crucial and delicate matter, so big that you can’t handle or balance, and so fragile you feel like it’ll vanish anytime, without warning, right in front of your eyes.
It’s so hard to feel so tired, so completely stressed that your whole body starts to fail, and to hurt, and to get away from your control. It’s even harder to put a smile on your face every(.) damn(.) single(.) holy(.) day(.) and walk through the doors of world with your head held high, pretending to be normal, pretending to fit in. It’s hard to keep the voices inside your head quiet. It’s hard to ignore the demons around you. It’s hard to pretend you don’t feel like the world itself wants to eat you alive. It’s hard to feel all the fear and the paranoid, and even so, exist.
I told you all that I was already fine, nothing to worry about, tasting blood in my mouth in every word I spoke. I’m not sure if I’m ever going to be okay. In fact it’s hard to get up from bed every morning. It’s hard to get off of the shower. It’s hard not to cry all day long. It’s hard not to stare down in every window. It’s hard not to picture gallows in every rope, ribbon or belt. It’s hard to keep motivated. It’s hard to break through your own cage. It’s hard to carry a rotten soul and a stone heart. It’s hard to face the darkness inside. It’s hard to scream for help knowing nobody will notice.
O lado escuro da lua 