And it's sad.
For so long I've tried to become what my eyes take in that I've lost myself entirely. Who's Rose? Who's Rose? She doesn't know, she has no idea. She's lost.
This feeling of unawareness scares me right down to the core. It makes me want to cry. I don't know who I am, yet I can see who I want to be. But how can I be what I want to be if I don't know who I am right now? How can I strive for something when there's no way of knowing if I'm already there?
Then there's the thought of I don't want to be like the world but it's something I keep coming back to. I'm lost. I'm wandering. I've strayed from my path. In fact, I stray so often I doubt I've ever found my original path to begin with.
I'm creating my own path. I'm knocking down trees in my wake.
Too often are the days where I sit down and stretch myself to search for the path I think I need. I sit down at my lonely campfires, wanting to tell the stories that have already been told. I have twigs in my hair and scrapes on my knees. Some would say I'm a survivor but there's a living hell in my brain and how can that be surviving? Is that what surviving is? Struggling all day and waking up the next morning to do it again?
Again and again and again...
The cycle. The cycle of life. The cycle of thoughts. If I've ever wanted to break free of something before, this is it.