Why did I write my poems a certain way? Could I have written it better? But the feeling is over. Did I make the right choices with the words? Time is passing by. Feelings of anxiety and dread. Sometimes I am distressed by the fact that I exist that causes me to doubt whether I really do exist. In the end, I will die and every second that passes is one less moment that I have to live. I am not afraid of dying. I am simply afraid of not living. And not making the right choices. And not making the most out of my time.
It’s hard to write when you want to kill yourself. It’s hard to write when every thought that pops out of your head is a trigger and all you want to do is to focus on the subject that you’re writing but all you can think of is the feeling that everything you’re experiencing is make-believe. It’s hard to write with everything going on inside my head, but I still write because it’s the only thing that gives my existence purpose and without purpose, I would rather die.
So here I am still fighting despite it all. I am living with my darkness. I see it everywhere. I see it in the number eight. I hear it in ticking clocks, and I’m reminded that I have a million things to do. I should be in college, but I’m too mentally unstable for it at the moment. I should be working on my next book. I should be writing another poem or article. I should be with friends, but I don’t have friends. I should’ve done everything, but it’s hard to function when you feel nothing. So I do nothing as time flies without me. And where does she go? Where does she take my life as she gently takes it away from my fingers? I want to feel in control, but I feel powerless. I want the ruminations to stop but there are infinite realities out there that are unfolding simultaneously with ours, and I’m afraid to create one that’s worth fighting for.
Sometimes I feel like a hopeless case. Sometimes I feel so alone. It’s in this times of loneliness that the darkness totally consumes me. It is when we suffer alone that we truly suffer. I don’t understand myself at all because there are days when I feel so down, and there are days when I feel so alive. I’m a walking contradiction. If I can’t understand myself then who can? The next thing that is better to being understood is being loved. And I believe that even if we can’t love ourselves, we can still be loved by someone who we can trust our darkness with. And I am hopeful that someday someone would come along and make my life so much easier to live.
I don’t know how to end this post or whatever you may call it. I am neither good at ending things or starting things. I am only good at staying alive and living with my darkness because if I don’t then, I will suffer. I am just in pain and pain is inevitable just as healing is and one day things would get better because they have to be.