I got some bad news.
I let go of some dreams.
I rejudged and rearranged a whole lot of things in my life.
I lost a hero.
I've been through all this before.
The losses, the depression following the losses, the cuts and bruises, the panic.
It was always bad.
There was also something else.
A sense of...well...exhilaration.
Strange word to use here, I know. But it was there. Fighting the darkness, going under, coming back, fighting again.
It was almost fun, in a way.
Now it's just fear and ebbing strength and more fear.
Fear of surviving.
Not the other way round.
Fear of surviving, and be left a living wreck, to look back upon all this.
Maybe it doesn't make sense.
Nothing has, for quiet some time, to be frank.
Whispering that everything will be all right.
Knowing it won't be.
I once had a talk with a friend.
About our favourite phrase “There's always a choice”.
About how quickly choices go out of the window once things go wrong.
We were too naive to draw conclusions then, but we know better now.
The choice is never whether or not you get shit. That is never an option.
The choice is only there for whether you pass the hurt on.
And whatever you choose, it's gonna hurt you either way.
Bring's me to my other favourite phrase “You shouldn't take life to seriously, you'll never get out alive anyway.”