The Only Constant is Change

I haven't written in a long time. Anything I feel like writing about cuts too deep. I've never been much for sharing and that goes doubly for what happens on the inside. To me most of the time, sharing what's inside is just another way for someone to exploit you. Sharing your inner most thoughts and feelings gives someone else ammunition to use against you. So I just haven't written.

I haven't written how broken I am on the inside some days. I haven't written that broken isn't really the word because the word itself implies that there is something to fix, and in my case, the damage is far, wide, catastrophic and irreperable. And along with irreperible damage comes change. Irreperable, never-take-it-back, change.

A long time ago I had a living father, and a different job, and different heartaches and concerns and problems. I had different insides. Adjusting to all the differents is I think more than I can bear. I miss knowing what I was doing, I miss saying something and being an expert, I miss being able to call someone and feel like no matter what, just because they were there, it would be ok.

And all of this is ultimately selfish. People survive worse, and grit their teeth against much heavier weights. So I just keep it in and grit my teeth, remember my breeding and keep going. I guess that's all there is, keeping going. Change means you're still alive. Without change, all you have left is death.