Here's to a blog that is made up of little to no followers being the only way for a person of the highest level of frustrations, yet equal privacy to vent.
I have a question. One, which I am certain, I actually know the answer to, yet for some reason, feel still compelled for someone to share it with me. Perhaps though, interestingly enough, that is exactly the thing which I do not want. Enough with melodrama, the question:
Is it okay, even right, to at some point stop being right. I don't mean right, rather good, though in many contexts that is not what I mean either. Is there something to giving up. To no longer be the best version of yourself. To no longer try. And when that force that lives to come against you whirls in, you cave. Giving it exactly what it wishes to take, you. Is that ever okay? To give in and just walk away. To no longer fight and actually become the wrongful accusations passed against you that you can no longer handle. Your tough exterior that no longer exists is not there to block you and all of a sudden you find yourself lost in a battle, that, wish as you might, you cannot walk away from without walking away from yourself. So there's my question: is it okay to become what you hate and fight against daily, in order to survive.
Maybe asking a world that isn't listening is not the best way to go about this. Especially with no idea what the situation which compels the question is. But even if I did fill in the tedious details you, whomever you are, would be just as lost as I at finding the solution to the equation. Mine is a fight that is as old as the age of man. One that philosophers, psychologists, anyone, could and have studied, yet the answer remains a mystery and unique to each situation, if one does indeed exist. Which only brings about more questions to think on. Is there an answer? Is it worth fighting for. Will I someday deeply regret the actions that I am taking, or will I suffer instead everyday wondering if there is ever peace from your enemies.
Oh to hate the one you love, is there worse a curse than this?
Do I choose survival or to live.
You stare at me like I hate you, but you break me every time we talk.
Does it matter if there is an answer after all? Why is survival without life and honestly, what is life without working your best to better everyone around you. But there comes a point where you have to choose. It is no longer a matter of giving yourself the oxygen first, so then you can help others. It is not who gets it first, but who gets it. Doing the right thing in this case is right, even though it feels so wrong. The poetic justice of life and our ever sinful natures right?
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