We don't have it all figured out.

Tale as old as time,

Especially for the high-functioning individuals like us. (One could argue that high-functioning doesn't exist and is merely hyper-performative behaviour disguised as High-functioning. But I digress. )

That sweet spot between the desire to handle everything by ourselves because we don't want to burden others with our issues and troubles, AND the desire to openly talk about our pain and show our wounds to our loved ones, is a nightmare.

Because we want and need help, but we can't bring ourselves to ask for it because we don't want to hurt others. We don't want to burden them with our anxiety or our depression or whatever mental ailment we're carrying. We don't want them to worry about us, because we know what they're going through, and we think that adding to the pile of concerns would hurt them more.

So we keep to ourselves.

We soldier on.

We pretend and we go on autopilot.

We learn and read and try to understand what's plaguing us, and sometimes we become too well-versed in psychology, things become so clear in our minds that we believe we've mastered it. We understand, so of course, we can fix it. But it's false. We don't understand shit. We don't control shit. What it does, however, is hinder our ability to receive help and, even more so, to ask for it.

I researched, read, did a lot of work on myself, and thought I had it figured out. I mean, I understood my suicidal tendencies, right? I understood my anxiety and depression, and that diagnosis still dangling on top of my head, but never truly confirmed because I don't follow their textbook. I thought I had it under control, and I even managed to fool my therapist and myself for a while, thinking I had everything under control.

But I didn't. I was masking.

I tried to harm myself, almost mind-absently. I was caught off guard. I realized that I had relapsed into my old habits. I compartmentalized and ignored the pain and the stress I was feeling, and one single snap was enough to undo a lot of progress. One single snap was enough to almost get me.

My partner was here, and I am grateful it happened when he was there. He found the right words, the right key to the door I put between my deepest feelings and myself.

I needed help.

I didn't have it all figured out.

No one ever does, and no one ever should.

It humbled me. I went to talk to my therapist about it, and finally, we started to explore those emotions I kept bottled up inside me. Finally, I was made comfortable enough to share my burden, to ask for help, and to be willing to receive it.

This sentence, written in the picture I posted, is advice I should have applied to myself. It is one, I still try to keep in mind when dealing with others. It is also one I hope others would also follow for themselves.

Don't assume that because you feel like you have it all figured out, you don't need help. That you can't ask for it or that you can't receive it.

There is no shame in needing help.

No shame in asking for it.

No shame in receiving it.

After all, that's also what makes us human.

MOET: Have you felt it?

Have you ever felt it? the words at the tip of your tongue that die out because you can't gather the strength to express yourself. There is this strong desire to come undone and stop pretending to be strong just for a minute that pushes you to your limits.. but still, you redefine your limits. Still, you make sure that nobody can see you cry. Here comes the moment you want to scream "I need you." but you stop yourself from ever doing so because the very hand that could help you out of the water, can very much drown you on a whim. Or, eventually, they would be taken down with you because that's what you do, isn't it? that's what you do. you take everyone with you.

So what can we do? What is left to do? All that is left is faith. Faith in the good nature of those we love, Faith in their ability to love us even though we keep disappointing them. Faith int heir ability to be strong and keep the path to the Light open long enough for us to cross safely. Faith in your own ability to climb the stairs to safety and well-being; Faith in your ability to heal. Because you can heal and you will, with time.. maybe a little... maybe a lot more. Have you ever felt it? the need to let go? just. let go and close your eyes because you've been extremely tired and you can't move anymore. I can't move anymore. I can't keep going. I need my rest, I need to stop. I need to stop...But Faith keeps me awake. it keeps me standing. it keeps me going.

So I guess I'm not done yet.

# Misadventures of Eros and Thanatos: Have you ever felt it?

Il y a (poème sur la dépression)

Il y a des nuits où nous nous trouvons seuls face à nous-même. Des nuits de reflections douces, des nuits d'angoisse profonde, des nuits où on refait le monde seul dans notre tête.

Il y a des nuits où on s'aime, des nuits qui nous rappellent que nous sommes vivants et qu'à travers nos larmes et nos peines, nous avons vécu une vie.

Il y a des nuits où on apprécie le chemin parcouru, la maturité acquise, les fruits d'un dur labeur: Au fond le prix des larmes, du sang et de la sueur que nous avons versé.

Il y a des nuits d'orage, des tempêtes dans le cœur qui nous plongent dans l'obscurité. La sensibilité rend la pensée meurtrière, les blessures s'ouvrent à nouveau, l'âme se glace. les mots se meurent au fond de nos gorge. on suffoque.

Il y a des nuits où on espère que le jour ne se lève pas. On prie pour un sommeil éternel, on abandonne la lutte car on est las et épuisé. Les vagues se fracassent contre les parois de notre poitrine et elles frappent et frappent et frappent au point de nos rendre fébrile...Mais on s'accroche comme on peut.

Il y a des matins au goût de champs de bataille. Ces matins ténébreux qui accueillent nos corps meurtris et nos esprits flétris. Ce sont des matins victorieux, bien que la victoire reste invisible.

Il y a des matins au goût de fête, ces matins emplis de lumière qui nous enveloppe telle une couverture. Ces matins salvateurs car ils ont le goût du bonheur.

Il y a des matins au goût du futur. ces matins à l'esprit bouillonnant d'idées et d'envie. Ces matins qui ont des projets et des sourires, ces matins au goût d'avenir.

Avec le temps, on apprend à comprendre, on ne se combat plus car le courant est trop fort. On ne se combat plus car c'est se faire du mal encore. Avec le temps, on suit le cours du courant, on suit les vagues et les marées et on apprend à les aimer. Alors, aimons nos orages, aimons nos plages de sable blanc, aimons nos naufrages et aimons nos retours triomphants. aimons-nous, comme nous aimons les autres. Aimons...

// Je sais. petit freestyle sur la depression. :) Bonne nuit et à bientôt. <3

In the dead of the night

In the dead of the night

A/N : Don't mind me...

There are days when I lose touch with reality. These days, 3 am seems to be the preferred time for my brain. Just when I can't sleep and I try my hardest to close my eyes and empty my brain, ominous questions start to fill it.  I question the very reality of my life. I question my hopes and dreams. I question my connection to some and others. There are days I feel like those connections are only in my head and at the very first moment, the very first opportunity people would have to leave me, they would. I feel insignificant, invisible and I keep carrying the blame over my shoulders. After all, if I die, the world will keep on spinning around. If I die, people would not notice, why would they? If I die, I wouldn't have leave memories behind. My mind is breaking down, my mind turns into million pieces when I try to think too hard of how much people just don't care about me and how silly I am for thinking they actually do.

I have thought of ways to express my emotions. Maybe if I just knew how to look at them and have them leave the confines of my brain, it would be easier for those around me to understand me. but it's not easy... The truth is, it is difficult to express, difficult to explain, but the truth is,  it's 3 am in the morning and there is darkness around me. I can see myself from afar as if I wasn't living my very own life, Here I am, standing there, in the ocean made of uncertainty and anxiety-induced fears. The truth is, I believe I would be forgotten, the minute I am not around anymore. The truth is, I believe that no matter what I do, it doesn't really matter. I have a hard time seeing the impact I have on others, let alone, the good I can do. So I just stand there, alone and tormented by my thoughts. These days, I try to fight off those thoughts. I try to rationalize. I try to understand why I would think like this and I try to fight these thoughts. At least, I address them. Isn't it the right way to go?  

There are days I win and light comes back into my heart, and clarity sets my thoughts into a peaceful order. I feel better, I feel good. I feel centered again. But there are days I lose. And those days, I live in utter terror. And my guts are churning and my heart is breaking down because I believe oh so strongly that it would be better if I was dead. I believe, oh so strongly that people actually don't care or they wouldn't care if I tried to ask for help. Or just admit I'm not doing okay. People wouldn't want to share the burden on my shoulders with me and would rather ignore me or throw me away if they could choose to do so. I don't trust myself, I guess and I don't trust that people care enough for me to suffer from my outbursts or honest conversations. Or perhaps, I'm too far gone to actually be able to speak my mind and my heart. I don't know what to say, I can't answer questions... I don't know how it is except that I am feeling and it hurts...

I am sorry. I am so sorry. Even at the dead of the night, all there is is just a scream stuck into my chest, and tears stuck into my eyes. All that is left is a hole in my heart I am unable to fill and a pain I cannot soothe. All I know is that the only thing I still can do is give love, even when I don't have any for myself, especially because I have none for myself. I am sorry.. so sorry

Doya; A hunter's life

//All the usual disclaimers :)

"A hunter's life is a lonely life, Oya."

Sarah's voice kept saying this sentence, over and over again in Oya's head. She was applying some cold meat on her bruised face while staring at her own reflection in the mirror. Sarah's voice repeated Oya's mantra as if it was her own and god that was irritating. That was irritating Oya because it was true regardless of the side of the World. She used to look at her past with colour-tinted glass, parading around spouting how much better life was in Cameroon because hunters were acknowledged and sought after. the society was aware of the supernatural because it was in their culture. Legends, Myths and older religions were still prevalent to the point that it was an honour to be a hunter and a necessity. Hunters were tools, however, and while they could have families, they couldn't escape their duty. They couldn't become something else, they were stuck in this life. So she stopped gloating about how much better life was outside of America because it ended up being untrue.

The hunter's life was a lonely one. It was a life of sacrifice and pain, a life of Dilemma. Oya was familiar with it, with violence and pain. With tears that she couldn't cry anymore and those, she couldn't contain. She stared at her bruised face in the mirror and inspected every bit of it. She looked at the swollen lips and left eye, she looked at the cuts on her cheeks, chin and the larger stitched wound on top of her forehead. Oya looked down to her body, only covered by a sports bra and a pair of grey boxers. She stared at her gunshot and stabbing scars, the deep traces of the Asanbosam claws that covered both forearms, the bruises on her sides mind-absently feather touched her belly, where the most intimate scar of them all was due to a potion she drank to save a life. It was a shitty life, for whoever would look at it. She couldn't have the white picket fences life Sarah was having. Sarah opted out of the hunter's life a long time ago so she could have a family. Oya couldn't.

All of those she loved died. It felt like the universe had said so. Her family was decimated by a demon and yet Oya felt guilty for something she had no control over. She felt guilty because her brother -who became the vessel of the demon- argued with her the day before he disappeared because he wanted to prove himself. If he had not left, maybe he wouldn't have died. If he had not left, then maybe, their mother would still be alive. Oya made her peace with those events, but the absence of her family became painfully obvious as time went by. Two years went by since then but Oya felt like they were dead yesterday. It became more and more difficult as she was seeking guidance for the choices she was making and those she wanted to make. Like Sam and Dean.Oya chose to live with them since they found her at this vampire nest and rescued her. She chose to spend time with them, share her life with theirs, allow them in her heart. But they were in danger with her; Oya was convinced. She worried they might die because of her and that was one of the reasons she always had packed bags in her closet. Bags she unpacked after a while because she started to catch feelings for...

A hunter's life is a lonely life. That was true. There was no room for romance, no time for love. Oya tried that only to have it bite her in the ass. Her beloved fiancé abandoned her when she became infertile. The minute he realized he couldn't father children he became distant with her. Witnessing the death of her love was excruciatingly painful for Oya, having to fight him after he got possessed was even worse but all those traumas were bound to happen when your line of work was to deal with supernatural creatures. Fabrice died and along with him, Oya's desire to love and be loved. Or so she thought. It all was shattered when she met them. When she met him. Deep down she was aware of how he made her feel, the gentle blush, the silly smile, the genuine laugh. But there couldn't be a "us", there couldn't be a "them"...Because Oya knew, the minute it would be, then everything would be over. He would die or maybe she would die and the story would rinse and repeat itself.

A hunter's life is a lonely life. She could tell. The brothers both have been through a lot and even after she learned some of it, Oya wasn't aware of the worst. They didn't tell her everything but Oya didn't need to know. She knew pain when she saw it and she did see the pain in both brothers eyes. Sam and Dean knew what "loss" meant. They had lost everything too, family, lovers, and even life. They were themselves souls with a greater purpose than Oya could ever imagine. They were special, she knew it. Forged by Death, strengthened by Pain and sharing a bond she refused to break. Sam knew, she told him already that she would put her life in line to ensure both of them kept each other. She could sacrifice her life in the snap of a finger if that meant preserving the brothers. She was willing to die for them... She put the warmer meat on the sink and curled her fingers into fists. What could she expect from her life if not more pain and misery? She found joy in her job, in hunting actual powerful supernatural beings and defeat them. She found a purpose in this life and defined herself as a tool in service of mankind because it was easier to think of oneself as one rather than a being capable of emotion. What good could it do anyway? What good could it do to dream of something a little better than what she had? What good could it do to want more from this shitty life? What good could it do to want him?

To love him?

To need him?

One of these people

I'm one of these people, one of those who can't stand to stare at their own reflection in the mirror.

I'm one of these people, one of those who can't stand to look into themselves and face their emotions.

It hurts, it hurts so much that spending a day without thinking about oneself feels like a relief... 

It hurts so much and yet feels like it should be ignored so we could focus on our loved ones.

it's both a selfless act because we care and a selfish one because we don't care enough about ourselves.

We could be struck by lightning for all we care, it wouldn't matter because we don't.

I'm one of these people, one of those who won't dare have dreams and try to make them happen.

I'm one of these people, one of those who would not try to be happy because they know, no, fear to lose it all.

It had happened in the past,  being way too happy for their own sake and forced to witness it burn to the ground.

It had happened, the feeling of being shredded to pieces because everything is collapsing before you.

And the pain is too strong, and the pain is too deep and they refuse to believe they could be happy again 

So we're very apprehensive whenever it comes to Happiness and people we care about and who make us happy. They could be gone just like that.

And we would have deserved it.

I'm one of these people, one of those who convinced themselves o be toxic. it doesn't make any sense yet it does.

I'm one of these people, one of those who'd rather keep it to themselves than speak and ask for help, 

Because we think we're an inconvenience  We think we're annoying people around us, 

We think the world of people we care about but still think ill about ourselves. because we're undeserving 

We think we can't make things get better YET would move mountains for those we care about.

How strange that works, love I guess can help us do anything and everything for our loved ones 

...Where is that love for myself?

I'm one of these people, one of those who don't know how to ask for help. 

I'm one of these people, one of those who are witty, funny, cryptic and who talk with codes.

I would write, I would share music with meaning, I would hint at how I truly feel without actually saying it  

Just a single glance at how I truly feel is enough to cause a meltdown, I don't want to feel, but is it healthy? No! 

And the pain is so intense that we wish it would be gone but we know there is work to do.

Work for what? work to get better of course. That's the end goal, after all, to feel better and be happier. 

Because Love is worth all the pain. 

Love truly is. it saves people...

I'm one of these people, one of those who despite the darkness surrounding their hearts, Hope still crawls into the cracks and creaks and make their heart soar.

Love and Me

Love and  I aren't friends. We might even say we're frenemies.
Because you know, I do love LOVE. I enjoy its company, I adore its thrills.
But Love always tricks me into looking at the wrong direction, finding the wrong people
And made me experience both the best and the worst when I fell in love.
Or so I thought.

I don't mind loving people, I love people, maybe as much as I hate them.
I don't mind having friends, having a family even though the circus is the same.
The joy of adding a new member to the family we choose is exciting and terrifying at the same time.
The excitement over someone old who is still in our lives is worth the efforts we put in said relation

The pain is stinging the same too. But I take the risk because I know how to handle it.

Love and I aren't friends. We might even say we're frenemies.
Because when Love makes me fall in love, it is always a glorious chaos.
A blender of fear and excitement, of hopes and disappointments and rare success.
It's a rainbow of emotions, maybe we could say the emotional spectrum of the lantern corps.
I feel as much as Hal Jordan than Larfleeze than Star Sapphire and how could I forget,  Saint Walker?

But maybe I am much more a mix of Sinestro and Atrocitus,
The perfect harmony between rage and fear for I fear to lose it all and I am angry at my old losses.
Maybe it has more to do with how I feel about myself rather than how I feel about the other.
The other is always up there, in the sun, bringing me hope and giving me unconditional love.
But I still have to Batman my way into it, don't I? Question everything, investigate.

Maybe it's how it should be, protect your heart and prepare for the worst.
However, preparing for the worst prevented me to taste the better.. mostly because I do not believe...
I do not believe it does exist. How could someone genuinely love me?
How could someone genuinely walk the walk with me and make the efforts I need?
How could I be sure I wouldn't end up distraught like I used to?

And from the shambles of my heart, it's the void you'd find instead?
Am I not one step closer to feeling numb? feeling nothing because I am tired of it all?
Or are these just reasons to avoid that conversation with Love?
Because I want to make Love sit and have a serious talk with it.
I want Love to be honest with me, show me the struggle, show me the scars, show me the cracks.
I want Love to show me hope too, show me how to fix the breaches, how to fill that heart with Love.

I want to ask Love about me. How do I do to finally love myself?
How do I  fight back the skeletons in the closet, the nightmares waiting to happen?
How do I get to ignore the scary voice in my head, the hurtful words I throw at myself?
How do I love myself? I wish to ask Love, but I know I can't.
Like Magneto, it always escapes, promising to come back with a vengeance.
Like Xavier, I allow that to happen, because I know that deep inside, it's misunderstood.
Maybe twisted, maybe wrecked up, maybe the lenses I use to look at it are deformed.

Or life forged me this way, past traumas I can't seem to overcome.
Or maybe I am simply not ready, the ladder is already there, I just need to see it, take the first step.
All of this is chaos in my head...

but "Chaos is a ladder", so I should climb that one and see what comes next.

Pandora Box

I opened the Pandora Box, without really trying.
It just happened out of the blue, in the middle of a conversation.
Everything was fine, we were joking and laughing and then suddenly it wasn't.
All because I said those few words.

I opened the Pandora Box
but maybe it had to happen, it was the right time for them to hear it.
I keep telling myself that at some point, I just had to be honest, but it's just to find an excuse.
All because I said those few words.

What did I think would happen if I spoke?
Truth to be told, I expected way worse than what I had.
A little comment here, the birth of a concern there before it all vanished to nothingness
Good thing I was prepared.

I know my words would stay in their head.
It would fester and invade the back of their thoughts and they would question every word I would say
They would question everything I would do because they had a glimpse of the darkness in my head.
All because I said those few words.

I could have kept my mouth shut, that was my go-to behavior.
Unhealthy coping mechanism to the pressure of a life I don't want to live or "endure" as I would put it
I could have kept my mouth shut, but words wanted out, so I let them out.
And now they expect the worst from me. And now they are worried.

I opened the Pandora Box, maybe I've just trapped myself a little more
In an attempt to escape the misery that living in my head is, I tried to break free and come clean.
I might have broken it, the status quo, the peace of mind of my loved ones.
Or maybe I set myself free, cleaned the slate to start over once again.

I have no fucking clue. I am confused.

All that is left inside of my mind is that ever-growing panic that doesn't want to keep quiet.

I opened the Pandora Box

Why did I do this?

rotten fruit

There is some darkness in all of that beauty. Something rotten at the core, festering like a disease. Something that you can't see at first but you end up noticing after a while.

She was like a delicious fruit you could have tasted, one you knew for certain would get you addicted, but would you take a bite knowing it was full of worms? Would you still eat it knowing it wasn't safe?

It's always my fault : ZEUS POV (My New Boss-MNB- )

A/N: Ah Zeus, (from My New Boss. You can find information in my articles) is having a very hard time. He's just learned that his former fiancé is heavily pregnant with her husband (and his best friend) and it just threw him back to when he acted like a fool and lost her for good. Heavy themes here. I needed a perfect way to convey some dark emotions and Zeus gave it to me. It's just him thinking of himself, not necessarily how others perceive him save for « he's an asshole ».

Xxxxx

« I am 8 months old pregnant Zeus. It's one of the reasons I don't want to visit you. Old wounds might open again and I've just healed from what you did to me. Don't ask me to come see you. You very much know I would not come over. With Love, Margot. »

Pregnant. She was pregnant! Of course, she would be. Zeus found himself staring blankly at the screen of his computer. In a moment of weakness, he reached out to his two only true friends.Paul Kingsman, his childhood best friend and Margot Kingsman, Paul's wife and Zeus former fiancée. He would talk to both, usually Paul over the phone and Margot through e-mails. After all these years it was a miracle if Margot wanted to talk to him altogether. He treated her very poorly years ago. She knew about his life, the untold story of the Olympian family. She knew about the way he was raised, the abuse from his father, the physical and mental scars it left on her fiancé. It never made her look down at him, if anything, she pushed him to become the successful man he was today. Margot was a rare one, brave, resilient and understanding. She loved him more than he deserved even when he rarely was at home because he worked very hard to clean the name of his family after his father was exposed for being a fraud. Margot stayed by his sides even when he virtually became poor and he had to work even harder to provide for his family.

When she told him she was pregnant with their child, Zeus was the happiest man on Earth. He swore to God and the other gods on Earth that he would take care of his child unlike his father did to him. He promised to himself and to her that he would be a different man than his father was and he was excited and thrilled about fatherhood. Zeus started to picture himself bonding with his child over sports if it was his child's interest, or science or frankly whatever his baby would want to do.He wasn't discriminatory. He was not going to fight his offspring regarding its preferences or its identity. He simply wanted his child to feel loved, welcomed and worthy.

Unfortunately, life happened and Margot got sick. Her pregnancy wasn't too far advanced so she miscarried. Zeus was distraught and snapped at this moment. He started to ignore her, came late at home, sometimes didn't even check on her. We could say, he abandoned his fiancée right after she had a miscarriage and later on dumped her over that very tragedy. That was an asshole move. He was an asshole he knew that. He refused to talk about the loss of his potential child, mostly because it hurt and he was ashamed of the way he treated Margot. She was the one who needed him the most and he abandoned her. Plain and simple. He left.

He left because he was scared. For him, it had to be his fault. The fetus couldn't have been viable because he was defective. The child couldn't have been born because it had half of his blood running through its veins. The child couldn't have been a good person anyway because it was his. The mental abuse his father put him through resurfaced as soon as Margot lost her fetus. It wasn't her fault and he never blamed her for it, it was his and his only. How could /he/ produce anything good? He had tried, his company was working but he was feared. People hated him because he was merciless and a shark. People hated him because of his good looks, almost inhuman features and he attracted many people. People hated him because he was the son of his father. Hercules was a fraud, he stole money from so many people rich and poor alike and ruined their lives. He worked along with the Irish mob in money-laundering and put his own son's life in jeopardy. If it wasn't for Kerri Jensen, Zeus would have died on that elevator from the gunshot he received from the mafia's goon.

Zeus roamed his hand over his face, angry at himself about how his life turned into. He fucked up. He knew he fucked up and he wasn't able to fix anything anymore. Margot moved on from him, she found a good man to attach her life to. Paul was a very good man, the best she could have ever found in Zeus' opinion. He loved Margot and from what he told Zeus, she did have a very good life. Margot was better off without him but still. It stung. I should have been his baby. They were supposed to be destined to each other. It should have been his baby and he fucked that up too. He ruined everything he touched, thank you, dad, for that! Hercules always told his son he was a good for nothing, that he was responsible for his mother's suicide, that he was a disgrace and a shame and he wished he had had another child than him to be his heir. He kept forcing Zeus into becoming a monster just like him and after all these years fighting his dad, Zeus realized he was just like him. He became an asshole in order to fight his father and undo the harm he caused others and would most likely end up being alone like his father.

Ah.. wouldn't that be fitting? For him to end up alone like he had always feared he would be? The news of Margot's pregnancy reignited a fire inside of him, opened a wound back. It destroyed him if he was being honest with himself. She was able to move on with her life, be genuinely happy and welcome a new life while he was denied all of it. Well.. not completely. Of course the new prompted him to propose to Irina Tchekovka, the supermodel who happened to also have a master degree in biochemistry. They have been on a long on and off relationship and Irina was truly a keeper. She was simple and kind and loved him despite his many flaws. She was very good to him and yet, he knew he would break her heart. He loved her but wasn't « in love » with her. Never was and never will.No. To make things go from bad to worse, he did fall in love with someone else. A newcomer in his life, the beautiful Asma Jensen.

Asma came into his life like a storm. She wasn't planned, wasn't welcomed -despite him promising her mother he would hire her daughter as a thank you for saving his life- and ultimately had to suffer his mistreatment until she proved herself to be worthy of his attention. She was resilient and good, caring even. She took care of him when he was drunk when he was still hurting from the gunshot wound when he was finding himself in predicaments. She proved herself to be useful to him, but more than that. She saw the asshole he was and stuck by him despite that. She was able to get him at the most genuinely around her, get him talk about secrets and feelings he kept to himself, made him fall in love with her. Shit ! That was it! He was in love with her but he broke her heart several times already. She couldn't possibly still love him when he was being so heartless. No ?

Well, even if he had a reasonable doubt, Zeus knew that she would not forgive him after he proposed to someone else. He chose Irina because she was less problematic and far away from his real issues. She was oblivious to what he was doing, of his mission to undo the harm caused by his father and his willingness to mingle with a known criminal to get the job done. She was convenient and practical and he cared about her enough to see himself married to her. He chose Irina in spite of Asma claiming her love for him a few days ago. He told her that he would break her heart because it was what he always did. He took everything from people only to smash their hearts onto the ground and stomp on it with his heels. He destroyed. He fucking did. And the day she learned about his engagement (through broadcasted news Tom put on purpose), he almost could hear her heart break. He watched as she stiffened and held back tears so she could save face and later on when she went to his office, she simply congratulated him on his engagement and put her reports on the table. He didn't say anything, what could he say save « Thank you » and she left, but it didn't escape from him that she was distraught.

He had two hearts in his pockets and he already knew he would destroy both of them. Nothing could go right because he didn't know how to do it otherwise. He simply took and took all that people had to offer to him and then he destroyed every little thing he had built with them. Paul blessed his soul, was by his sides only because he was a loyal man with principles. Margot stayed because they were childhood friends and she knew him more than he did know himself, even though they never met face to face after he left. She stuck to writing him emails and occasionally have him over the phone but not more than that. Seeing him was too much for her, too painful and it was better this way for him too. He was better off alone, wasn't he? But could he be? Zeus knew that he desperately needed company and wouldn't do good on his own. Maybe that made him a slut but all these years going from one bed to another was only the result of him trying to find another Margot. Irina was his Margot. Asma was a forbidden fruit. She already had a bad taste of how painful it could be to live with a man like him so he didn't try to think too much about it.

That was his excuse. It all fell down the drain whenever he saw her beautiful face. She had to force herself to spend her days by his sides. It was her job, she was his personal assistant, which made it even more painful for both of them. Zeus had to pretend he didn't care, but he could see her heartbreak and in return, it broke his heart. He could have easily said yes and tried to go out with her, but he didn't and deep down, he knew that it was because he was afraid that something worse might happen to her. He was afraid that she might even suffer more than she already did because his love was toxic, his genuine unbridled love was a catastrophe and it was better if he saved her from all of this, from himself. That was why he chose Irina. Because it was the easy way.

But they would both suffer from his hand. They would both suffer because of him. It was always his fault, wasn't it?

(TBC)

Jealousy was the symptom

Jealousy was a symptom
Fear was the disease
For every time someone laid their eyes on him
She was forced to look back at herself

How could you look back at yourself
When you avoid staring at the mirror in the morning?
How could you look back at yourself
When you hate the very reflection you always see?

Jealousy was a symptom
Self-hatred was the disease
For every time someone caught his interest
She thought he would see more and more her flaws

The others were better than her, she was convinced
Stronger, less problematic, of course, he'd rather be with them
The others were everything she wasn't, even when they were
Their plights were softer than hers, so he'd choose them

Jealousy was a symptom
Sadness was the disease
For every time she laid her eyes on him
She felt sorry he had to put up with her

//eh....

he fell out of love -angst/sad-

He fell out of love

A/N: Bear with me, please. I thought my up phase would last longer but I guess it only lasted a week. I am in a pretty bad phase right now but all I can do and write is what I have in my heart. I can't do more. Please bear with me.

xxxxxxxxxx

I watched it at the best seat, no really the best seat.

I watched as he started to grow distant with me and then requested more and more space.

I gave it to him, his space, thinking I might have been asking too much from him.

Yeah, whose fault would it be if it wasn't mine? I clung to him, I needed him too much.

So I gave him space, a lot of it.

I watched it at the best seat, no really, the best seat.

He used to hug me, kiss me goodbye and comfort me when I wasn't alright.

I saw him stop caring too much. He didn't ask anymore how I was feeling.

He didn't want to know. How could I blame him? He's been doing this since the first day.

So, I decided I wouldn't let him know how I felt and keep it to myself.

He didn't have to watch my drama unfold in front of him. He didn't need to worry anymore.

We used to eat together too, but always he would make excuses not to sit with me at the table.

He was avoiding me and there was nothing I could have done to prevent it from happening.

I tried and tried so hard to ignite the fire that linked us together, restore the old flame between us.

I couldn't grab his attention anymore, I couldn't kick start our love again...

So I watched it slowly decay. I watched it die like a nurse at a patient's bed.

He stayed with me because of his sense of duty, he told me later.

He wanted to make sure I didn't break when he would leave, that I would be okay.

That was... that was yet another blow. He pitied me, what else would that be if not pity?

What did that say about me? That I couldn't handle him leaving me? That I was too fragile?

I succeeded in making the man I was in love with, a prisoner of his own relationship. Well done!

My heart ached for him. It bled at night because even when we were sleeping he still was distant.

He still didn't want to hold me, he became a complete stranger with a face I used to know.

I wanted to touch him, kiss him, hug him. I was still burning with desire for him but he had stopped.

He was like a beautiful fruit hanging on a tree that I would never be able to reach anymore.

He was... he was... rejecting me as if I was not desirable anymore to him.

I couldn't blame him though, but, he used to make me feel like the most beautiful woman ever.

He used to make me feel like I was the only one on Earth and now... now I just felt like garbage.

It wasn't his fault, he simply fell out of love with me. It happens you know? It does hurt though

I would never have thought I would have to experience it again, with him, but I was wrong.

Frozen as I was, it took me several months to realize that I was holding him back.

I ate alone, drank alone, slept alone... I still lived with a man whose heart was closed forever to me.

It all ended so brutally, I didn't understand how he could so quickly fall out of love with me.

Yet, when I thought about it, all of them quickly left me after a while, so it must be me. My fault.

I caged him up, the man I was supposed to love the most on Earth. I caged him up.

Freedom is the best gift you can give to someone you love, so I had to give his freedom back.

So I lied.

I had to let him go and he wouldn't go if he wasn't sure I was doing okay. So I decided to pretend I was doing okay. I stopped moping around when he was around. I started to smile more.

I worked really hard to make him feel like I moved on from him so he could go. He bought into it.

So I helped him pack his stuff, kissed him goodbye, wished him good luck, called him a friend.

But when I closed the door and looked at the empty flat I now lived in, it hit me hard, like a truck.

I let him go. It really was over.

I never thought I would have to experience it once again, not with the man I loved this much.

But it became clear that it couldn't have gone another way, it had to end up like this.

He fell out of love with me like so many before him and maybe more after him.

But unlike the others, I noticed it way before it became too critical and I took action.

I tried to save our relationship but it was useless, so I did what I had to do: I let him go.

Alone in that flat, I could finally accept my own feelings, my true emotions.

I didn't have the energy to do more but sit on the floor and contemplate my life.

See, he might have been gone but he loved me the best. He genuinely loved me.

So, in a way, I should feel lucky to have experienced it shouldn't I?

Love is a tiresome game, one I keep promising myself to never play again.

It's a freaking Russian roulette where Pain is the only thing at the end.

I feel like I'd rather take a bullet and end everything, but the beautiful moments hold me back.

I simply laid there, against my front door, wondering what I would do now that it was over.

But all I could think about was that he fell out of love with me

and I didn't... ohno.... I didn't.

Monster girls: Anxiety and Depression

it's very personal since I am suffering from both of this.  I wanted to express a litle bit what I am feeling. 

dots of hope

Sometimes you really wonder,
what kind of planet you're born into.
You're searching for your inner flame, the long lost passion
Or maybe for your halcyon days, the blissful moments
and you're lost oh so lost
And tired, oh so tired.

You really wonder what's worth in all of that,
Walking on burning sand or very sharp rocks
Everything looks so grey, looks so gloomy
and surely you stop caring about anything at all.
what's the worth of strutting around? where's the beauty in that?

It's a dance, life's a dance.
You can miss the first chance, but suddenly you'll get another one.
I couldn't dance on techno songs, but I'll wait for the R'N'B old school mix
And I'll dance the hell out of it, I'll dance it until my feet hurt
I'll be back into the dark but at least I'll have the memories
I'm living for these moments, small dots in the darkness
small stars in the black sky

little drops of Hope left for me to stare at.