She told me that I’m not enough

And she left me with a broken heart

She fooled me twice and it’s all my fault

She cut too deep now she left me scarred

Now there’s so many thoughts going through my brain

And I’m taking these shots like it’s novocaine

I fall apart, down to my core.

I can’t believe how long ago Post Malone wrote this song, and that I still enjoy it this much after all this time.

To set the record before I get into it no one has ever verbally told me I’m not enough.

Plenty of people have made me feel like I’m not enough, and recently I’ve been struggling with that feeling more than ever. I can’t tell you what I’m not good enough for. I’d call this more of a cognitive distortion than a feeling. That’s right I go to therapy, or went to therapy for a while anyways.

Last year I was made to not feel like enough, left with a broken heart, and now I’m having trouble putting the pieces back together. I’m having trouble convincing myself everything that happened wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t just because of me, I don’t stink that bad.

For a minute to deal with the emotions I did a whole lot of shopping, and honestly a lot of the clothes I bought do make me feel better when I put them on.

I’ve gained a fake confidence over the last year, I appear confident on the outside but on the inside I’m crumbling, and overthinking everything.

I received a book today called not everything you think is true or something along those lines, I don’t actually remember the name, it’s what I’ll be reading after I finish this blog.

Tonight is one of those nights I have too many thoughts in my head, on nights like this that feeling often leads to me feeling a bit manic depressed, and sometimes brings on passive SI.

I’m hoping the reading and remembering that it’s okay to fall apart sometimes will get me through the night.

I saw an interesting thing online today that said if you held a glass of water in your hand, after a minute there’s no difference in weight. After hours your arm would cramp and hurt. The weight didn’t change, but carrying it that long gets tiring. Maybe it’s time to stop carrying so much, it’s time to let some things out.

Prepare for more deep stories, sad stories, and vulnerability.

Where the skies are gold not gray, J.