...maar ek wil nie beter wees nie.
Kan jy nie sien nie?
Ek wil nie altyd met my trane in my oë leef nie, maar ek het nie die wil om myself te red nie.
'n Newe lewe. ek wou dit he.
Jy kan 'n perd na water lei, maar jy kan hom nie laat drink nie....en so met my.
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This doesn't translate exactly, however here is a rough translation:
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...but I don't want to be better.
Can't you see that?
I don't want to live always with my tears in my eyes, but I don't have the will to save myself.
A new life. I wanted it.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink...and so it is with me.
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It's an old saying (the horse one, that is). You can only do so much for someone, but in the end, they are the ones who make the decision to change or make the decision to accept that help.
This was something I wrote on my phone. I was visiting a friend's church and ended up finding more and more how 'wrong' things felt because I was there, that is my body and mind were, but there seemed to be a part of me missing that I hadn't been able to ever quite grasp. I tried to just 'be okay'. But I couldn't. So I wrote down what I felt to- to separate it for myself. Somehow, I thought that if I was able to see it, I would have really felt it and wouldn't have to wonder anymore how much of it was just made up...
It was all real. But writing it down made me feel worse. I didn't quite realise what I had written until someone else tried to translate it and then I wanted to hide it! Hide it from everyone and anyone who might care to see it, because that wasn't the me I wanted them to see. So I acted the fool instead and was a bit too happy and too jumpy and my voice just too highpitched, my feet a step too light and my eyes wavering between a bright intensity and vacant senselessness.
There was this thin line between wanting with all my mind to be better and hoping, hoping, hoping I would be. But I never believed it. As the time went by, I believed it less and less. Why would something happen that had been so long in coming? How come nothing I did worked? How come I was losing friends? How come I couldn't speak to my family? How come there was no change but this dark swirling deep in my stomach?
I hadn't realised then how much I was caught in this cycle of lost.
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Wave (Book 2)
PoetryI had survived the first. That was then; this is now. The blindfold of so many pills slowly died away and first though my finger then my head, a passion, a hurt and a need filled me as every moment was consumed with words; every breath with wisps of...
