Surviving Instead of Living

I always hear about how pain can bring out beauty within ones self. Or that something creative can arise from the breakdown. But there is no beauty. It’s suffering. And sometimes that suffering can be so unbearable I think I’m going to burst. Like there is something inside me that needs to get out and I become restless. I search for anything that can help me breathe again, even if it’s just temporary. I crave a different life so I do what I can to change who I am. Most of the time it results in dying my hair or getting a new piercing. Or the outcome will be a night of mindless drinking. Anything that can help me forget. But the feeling never stays long and I’m back to being me. Because honestly nothing can really change until I convince myself that it’s not the end of the world. That I can pull myself out of this. That I’m just afraid of failing. And maybe, just maybe, who I am is enough. Pretty enough. Smart enough. Good enough.