Putting Out the Fire

There is a fire in me. I don’t know when it happened or what prompted it but it is spreading and is without boundaries.

I used to write for myself but it turns out that nowadays I need it to save myself. I need it to real me back into who I used to be. I used to think that pain came from the infliction of others. I thought it came from abandonment or mental torture caused by people that you thought loved you. But doesn’t really. It’s more of how you absorb that pain and whether you choose to let it fester or let consume you, taking little pieces of who you are until you’re nothing.

I started a fire when I went looking for a replacement. Someone, something, to fill the monumental void that you left in me, that I pushed you out of. How could I hurt someone that loved me more than I ever could?

I think that’s when the fire started.

I used pent up anger as ammunition. I put a match to my morals and I lost who I was in the flames. But I liked the pain. It felt right. It felt like all of the hurt that I caused everyone throughout my life could somehow be resolved, avenged, through this pain that I chose to put myself through.

I was my own punching bag, in some ways I still am and I think it’s because I’m scared. I am so scared of allowing people to hurt me. I push and I pry them away so that they can’t do the same to me. I use fear as fuel. It floods over me as a shield, protecting me from the could have been and the almost.

But it isn’t working anymore. I am so lost. I’m tired of trying to find myself in unhealthy places, leaving me more burned than before. I think I owe it to myself to pour love into the vessel I was given, so that’s what I’m going to start doing. I guess I’ll keep you updated.