Raw

You'd think that I'd learn my lesson from writing a post fresh from feeling some raw emotion. In general, it is only when I feel something negative that I pour it out into words, or into a drawing...because despite how true my feelings may be on in those words, or in that picture I always regret it. Always. I've leafed through a few of my old drawings, and my old vents. ...Though there is a quality that I cannot describe within them...that keeps them fresh. Perhaps it is because a part of myself truly resides in those words, those lines and scribbles. It is real and raw and alive in it's creation and still remains so very much. But still, it is not something I am proud of. For it only reminds me of my sadness, and that that, whatever that may be, came from me. That depression. It was torn and it was desperate. And it was small. And cowering. And most definitely, in pain.

I think in iterating this, one of the biggest fears is that it most likely is still there.

You'd think I'd learn my lesson from writing these things, yet here I am again. Feeling bitter and lonesome. Writing.