It has been awhile since I spoke to a friend. I spend most days at home reading books. Just writing all my sorrows away. And it gets dull after awhile. Spending most of my time alone in the dark. Missing the feeling of what it’s like to have a social life.
But the sad thing is—I am anxious with the slightest social interaction because I feel like I’m ugly and awkward and boring. And I use thought as an excuse for me not to participate in life because I am afraid to live.
And the truth is—I want to die. But I am afraid of pain. And I use fear as an excuse to continue my existence because I am also afraid to die.
—Confessions of a Wallflower, page 63
Sometimes the words I type feel unreal. Sometimes I think I’m losing my ability to write. I miss my old writer self when I was brave and playful and confident with my words. I wish I could turn back time and try to take it easy with myself. That the universe didn’t have to make sense to me. That I could’ve taken it one day at a time instead of burning myself out.
Someone once said that when you stretch your intellect beyond a certain point, you will crack up. And I think that’s what happened to me. I became so indulged with the power of creation that came with controlling the way that I think that made my mind crack. It’s now always anxious with or without reason. There isn’t a single day that it doesn’t think about death or the afterlife. It was trying to control the nature of my reality that sent me into a mental health facility.
I became so paranoid about something called “the butterfly effect” and how with every choice we make we create a different reality. With other lives that we’re leading. With other people we’re becoming. And I just want to be the perfect version of myself, but I feel like a failure nowadays. It’s hard to succeed when I’ve already lost my mind. And it’s even hard to live when everything I feel feels unreal.
I’m twenty now.
I should have figured out my life by now.
I should be at college finishing my majors, but I just feel like I can’t because of the constant anxiety that I am feeling. I should be enjoying my life, but here I am carrying so many regrets.
I should’ve created more art during my teenage years. I should’ve played less computer games. I should’ve tried to learn the guitar because I always wanted to play the guitar, but I didn’t persevere enough during childhood. I could’ve been the writer who plays the guitar.
How can one cope up with the loss of opportunities? And also the loss of time?
Maybe that’s why I am so anxious about the concept of choosing. And time running out like there’s none of it left to be who I want to be. And I am still not yet the person whom I want to be. My mind is a mess, and therefore my life is a mess.
I don’t believe that I deserve to suffer but ninety percent of my days I do and that is why I feel like killing myself. I feel like suicide is my ultimate real choice that will end this dark stream of thoughts that releases a burning sensation all throughout my body.
The only thing I believe in is the moments when I feel like I am getting better no matter how deceptive and untrue they may sometimes be. Because when it gets better, it gets worse again and it’s an annoying thing honestly. To feel hopeful only to feel hopeless again. But I guess that doesn’t mean that I should stop keeping at it.
I guess that I should just use everything that I have now to obtain everything that is meant to be mine. Because I still believe in fate. I still believe in destiny. And it is my dream to recover and be the best writer, the best son and the best human being that I can be.
The butterfly effect… alternate realities… choices… do I have free will?… time… all sensation is memory… death… reincarnation… other worlds… kill myself… I hate being twenty… the butterfly effect… alternate realities… something feels wrong with my social media accounts… do I even exist?… death… reincarnation… words… words feeling unreal… something’s wrong with my debut poetry collection… numbers… the number eight… thoughts… thoughts create reality… failing… losing… OCD… bipolar… kill myself… life is a dream… am I only my mind?… the illusion of reality… what if I’m crazy?… the butterfly effect… alternate realities… choices… kill myself… kill myself… kill myself.
How can I fix my mind if my mind is where the problem is in the first place? It’s getting hard to live day by day when all I could think of is my death. Along with a negative stream of irrational thoughts that haunts me minute after minute after minute.
Do I have free will? Does the butterfly effect cause alternate realities to exist where I could’ve been perfect? Is choosing death the ultimate real choice to freedom?
I’ve been walking around my room back and forth back and forth several times a day feeling very restless and angry. Contemplating about my death. Smashing ice cubes and hangers on to the wall. Arranging and rearranging things. Shouting occasionally.
It isn’t enough that I am understood by the people who love me. I am suffering and there’s no cure to my thought process. Some days I don’t even feel like anything exists. Some days I don’t even feel like I’m the real me.
I am powerless. I am flight. I am panic. I am anxiety. I am a soul that would eventually be set free from this world.