that my mind, though usually weak,
had the amazing strength of auto-creating my feelings.
That my soul wasn't capable enough of experiencing emotions in depth
and, in its defence, my own sense would try to fill the missing gap.
I've always had this problem,
I could never be absolutely certain of my heartbeats,
I could never be sure how to seperate illusion from reality,
so I spent my days suspicious of my only thoughts.
I 've always feared my heart was left frozen,
so, in a way, not worthy of existence.
Dead, yet still beating.
I remember myself strugglin' to stop my brain from growing a feeling of any sort.
I remember myself rejecting every strong emotion as fake.
I remember him longing for anything real,
when everything in me seemed empty.
I 've always had this thought,
that my only true feelings were exactly the ones
I kept pushing away.
When dreaming, I wished for the feelings I could imagine.
That was my weapon- my imagination.
Locked in there, I craved pain and I craved happiness.
Locked in there, I was without a shadow of a doubt alive.
I've always had this fear,
that my breath was so surface.
I was terrified,
not being able to realise
that this terror alone,
was as real as a feeling
as all the others I would always underestimate
κι όλα τα αμφισβητώ.