When I'm suffering the most, I don't tell people. I don't post what's going on in Twitter updates, or Facebook statuses. I don't seem to call people either. Quite frankly I don't even write or journal. I leave myself to be tortured by many great creative ideas, but with such frantic pace to their arrival that I live this fantasy of expectations that can only be described as outlandish, farfetched, inevitabile and susceptible to failure. All this partnered with a deep rooted feeling of previous failure providing a cascading funk over all my new and past locked away ideas. A coating of tarnish blankets the thoughts of capability to ever feeling resolve or success. If only I could be the person I once was or who I wished I was. That Individual I see in my head, seeming recently more distant.

I often look at my friends lists and my phone, and don't feel interested to talk to anyone. The question then aeries, why talk to people that don't feel in the same capacity? Passion is to blame. People who are forever passionate are setup to fail or be burnt in this recent world. I don't think I will ever feel free. My passion is my thorn.

I do not have tunnel vision if you were worried by that last statement. Life isn't bleak, I just am simply saying I've hit a new low, and this is as much talking about it as the subject will get.

I am far from the innocence I once was. And I wish i could say i was getting happier as life progresses...