Entry One- 

Someone told me it's not good to bottle up your emotions. That you need to let them out. And I asked how? No one wants to hear about other people's emotions. No one wants to hear that- they act like they do, they put on a kind face and smile and nod. 

But they don't care. They don't need your burdens baggage. They don't need your tears and shouts and sobs. They don't need your sadness and anger and frustration. They don't need your pain. God knows they have enough of their own. They don't need mine. 

But all those feelings can't stay locked up forever. There's only so much pain you can shove down inside until you erupt, like a volcano. It's only a matter of time until someone gets burned. 

But ink is just as easy to let flow as words are, and the only thing burdened is this sheet of paper. This is me, letting my emotions out. 

So why does it still burn? 

Entry Two- 

I've discovered that there are two different kinds of pain. They can come in all shapes and sizes, but it all fits into one of two categories. 

The first is pain that goes away. Sometimes it's so fast you're not really even sure it ever hurt in the first place, a kind there-and-then-not pain. Or sometimes it lingers, wraps its arms and legs around you and doesn't want to let go. But it always does, in the end. And it leaves you off better for it, too, leaves you stronger and tougher. 

The second kind of pain is pain that doesn't go away. Sometimes it leaves for a little while, but it always comes back. Before you can properly revel in its absence, it wraps around you from behind and drags you to your knees. But it's bearable. 

Sometimes, it comes with a vengeance, pouncing on you and digging its claws into your bones and its teeth into your skin. And no matter what you do, it hangs on, tearing you apart, suffocating you until you want to scream, need to scream, but no sound will pass your lips because your lungs are full of blood and all that is left is to smile, because you can't, because it won't let you scream. So you smile through the blood and tears and pain and pray to God you can fool everyone else. 

There are two kinds of pain. Pain that heals, and pain that doesn't. 

Entry Three- 

Today, I met a monster. I didn't realise it at first. I used to think monsters were grotesque, slimy, horned things with too many eyes that hid under beds or in closets. But this monster didn't look like that at all. 

He stood perfectly still, in the middle of the room, watching with weary eyes. There was blood on his hands, even though I couldn't see it. There will always be blood on his hands. 

People say war makes monsters, but I don't think that's true. Regret makes monsters. And this monster was perhaps the most dangerous of all. 

Today, I became a monster.  

Entry Four- 

I went to visit my sister today. She's always happy to see me, even though she knows about the blood that stains my skin and about the nights I've spent on my knees, drowning in my own screams and guilt and sins. And she still loves me. 

When me little nieces were born, I was there. The dad wasn't a part of the picture. He doesn't know what he's missing out on. For a long time, I refused to touch them. They were so tiny and pure, I couldn't possibly stain them with tainted hands and broken love. But I couldn't help myself. Before long, I was with them whenever I could spare time. I loved them to a fault. I still do. 

I've heard more than one person say that love makes you weak. That's not true. Love is how you survive, when you don't think you can go on, when you don't want to go on. But you have to. For the people you love, the people that need you. So you push forwards, for them. 

Love doesn't make you weak, it makes you survive. 

Entry Five- 

People sometimes say that war makes monsters. I don't agree. War makes soldiers, people who follow orders. What makes monsters is regret. Remorse. Guilt. 

You're not a monster if you're only doing what's expected of you. What keeps your family fed and safe. You're a monster if you do those kinds of things because you can. You had another option, but you chose to do this. 

You're a monster if you can do them and feel bad. You're a monster if you whisper "I'm sorry" while you wipe your knife clean. You're a monster if you cry while you wash their blood out of your hair. You're a monster if you know it's wrong but you don't stop. 

But, are you a monster if that's all you've ever known? 

Another prompt! I wrote this a while ago and unearthed it in one of my old notebooks idk what to feel about it. A lot of it is kinda reflective of my own personal feelings in regards to emotion/pain but idk. You can have it. Gift!