Through the Fog

Tag: self sabotage

  • Story of My Life

    Story of my life—

    always halfway somewhere.

    Half over it.

    Half still hoping.

    Half healed.

    Half wrecked.

    Too aware

    of what’s wrong

    and somehow

    still repeating it.

    I leave doors cracked

    for people

    who already walked out.

    Replay conversations

    like maybe this time

    the ending changes.

    Say I’m done

    while still checking

    for signs

    I shouldn’t care about.

    I call it moving on

    when really

    I’m just dragging

    old versions of pain

    into new rooms.

    I get good

    at surviving things

    I should’ve never

    had to survive.

    Good at smiling

    through exhaustion.

    Good at saying

    “I’m fine”

    with a straight face.

    Good at making chaos

    look manageable.

    Story of my life—

    wanting softness

    but wearing armor.

    Wanting peace

    while feeding the thoughts

    that steal it.

    Wanting to be loved

    without knowing

    what to do

    when someone gets close enough

    to actually try.

    But somehow—

    despite all of it—

    I’m still here.

    Still trying.

    Still becoming

    something other than

    the worst chapters.

    Maybe that’s the story too.

  • Like I Always Do

    I let you down

    like I always do—

    at least that’s the story

    I keep telling myself

    every time someone looks at me

    with disappointment

    I saw coming long before they did.

    Maybe I’m too much.

    Too distant

    when things get real.

    Too damaged

    to hold anything good

    without shaking.

    I try—

    God, I try.

    But somewhere between

    wanting to be better

    and actually becoming it,

    I keep falling back

    into the same patterns.

    The same silence.

    The same mistakes.

    The same version of me

    I swore I’d outgrow by now.

    And the worst part is—

    I see it happening

    while it’s happening.

    Like watching a car crash

    from inside the driver’s seat

    with no idea

    how to stop it in time.

    So when you pull away,

    when your voice changes,

    when I feel the distance growing—

    part of me thinks

    of course.

    Of course I ruined it.

    Of course I became

    exactly what I was afraid of being.

    But maybe

    I’m not impossible to love.

    Maybe I’m just someone

    still learning

    how to stop expecting abandonment

    before it even arrives.

    Maybe I’m not letting everyone down—

    maybe I’m just exhausted

    from believing

    I always will.

  • Rock Bottom

    I hate rock bottom,

    but I’m good at digging holes—

    hands blistered from familiar work,

    knowing exactly where the ground gives way.

    I tell myself I’m searching for answers,

    for something buried worth finding,

    but most days I’m just rehearsing the fall,

    proving I still know how to disappear.

    Rock bottom scares me

    because it asks me to stop digging,

    to stand still with the damage,

    to look at what’s left

    instead of what I can destroy next.

    Digging feels like control.

    Like movement.

    Like I’m doing something

    instead of admitting I’m tired.

    But every hole looks the same

    after a while—

    dark, quiet, convincing.

    I don’t fall because I don’t know better.

    I fall because climbing feels

    like hope,

    and hope feels dangerous

    when you’ve been let down before.

    Still—

    even with dirt under my nails,

    even with gravity winning again—

    some part of me keeps looking up,

    measuring the distance,

    wondering what it would take

    to stop digging

    and start building

    instead.