"A cold wind in the winter of my mind."

I always called myself an artist, not because any of the things I ever created, whether it was a poem or a painting, have been very creative artwork, but because I have the heart of an artist. I sometimes think my possibilities to feel despair and agony are more intense than the possibilities of many other human beings. That thought itself is of course one of an artist who likes spending his time with thinking what a poor soul he is instead of ironing his shirts. Yet I do feel it though I of course can't tell how others may feel. But tonight another part of my soul rips itself apart and I'm sitting here watching it - unable to stop the process. I live in very special circumstances concerning myself. To go outside and do my work everyday can be done, but it takes away most of my energy. It's been like that all my life but the happiness I felt by being loved by others made me love myself and gave me all the energy I needed. I ignored all the facts about my body and just lived my own fantasy world in-world. Since last summer, when my life all of a sudden completely crushed, I can't feel this energy anymore. It vanished. On the other hand I started to stop ignoring the real world but started to try to become a part of it again - or for the first time in my life. I very rarely was the type to say "Why does all this happen to me?" and I'm still not the type. Things are the way they are and I have to make the best out of it. Still the energy it takes just to leave my flat every morning and feel their looks on my face and their torturing words behind my back is bearely to get from anywhere anymore since I started to realise that I need to become part of this world. Therefor I need Megan. Everytime I see her, I feel more loved and less rejected. The problem is, that Megan doesn't always work. Fantasy is wearing off. A good thing on one hand as it helps me to survive real world. On the other hand it shows me what real life people can be like. Especially the ones who tell you, they love you, just to stab you in the back the very next moment. I get the feeling that E. will never talk to me again. She stabbed me, killed all my beliefs, asked for my friendship the moment she ended our relationship and felt punished when I said I'm not sure if I could handle that. When I soon after that said, I would try my best to keep the friendship, she turned her back on me completely. Again: I do not say "Why did all that happen to me?", but tonight I ask "When will time finally kill the despairation which is caused by all these happenings?" And you will call me an artist, a loser being pathetic once again. Call me what you will and I know there are worse things happening on this earth than my personal holocaust. It still doesn't change the way I feel to just know there are people who feel worse. I hope we all get better soon.