I've let them crumble. Not leting time make them stronger, not letting old supports be replaced by new.
Building ones self is the hardest thing. So many pieces missing, from a life i thought i lived well. Only now finding it wasn't what was best, it only felt right, at the time.
Avoiding. Letting water wash me of my fears, trying to build my self confidence over a shakey foundation, as if built on sand. Letting waves of salt take away the grains of sand w/ every pull.
Marisa is taking me to a councelor, something i think i should have had a long time ago, but issues were ignored. Never brought to the table.
Fear is such a constant. An excuse... is my life an excuse? Metaphores are examples of what i feel, the image protraying what i consider myself.
How many times to lose myself? 20 marks the years, 7300 days.
A lot of time spent in unknown.
chez