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.
Cheeseburger or double cheeseburger? Coke or Pepsi? To travel Asia or Europe? To marry or not to marry? To have kids or not to have kids? To have a dog or not to have a dog? To exercise or not to exercise? To choose the career that I love or money? To read a book or not to read a book? To love myself or not to love myself? To rent a house or to buy a house? To quit or not to quit? To smile or not to smile? To be kind or to be right? To learn the guitar or the piano? Each choice feels like opening another reality. Each choice feels like opening another door. What the fuck is the difference with all of these choices? How do we know if we’re still in control of who we really are as a person with free will when in an alternate reality we’ve made the exact opposite choice of what we did. How can we make the perfect choice to have more control and be the best versions of ourselves?
i pray that i will recover from this illness.
i pray that i will feel the joy, peace, and love
that i’ve been longing for.
i pray that i will have the strength to better myself.
i pray that i will never lose hope in times of despair.
i pray that i will heal every single day of the rest of my life.
i pray that i will experience less pain and more pleasure every
single day of the rest of my life.
i pray that i will think more rationally.
i pray that i will feel that the things around me are real and not
an illusion or a dream.
i pray that i will soon get well.
i pray for the belief that i will soon get well.
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 really sorry that you’re in so much suffering. I’m really sorry that you’re in so much pain. These feelings of regret, anxiety, and unreality sometimes happen after experiencing feelings of well-being, healing, and peace. And you may think that the sun may never shine again in your world but it will. I hope you know that it will. Just hang in there. It will get better.
May you have the courage to fight this phase.
May you have the willpower to keep yourself alive.
May you have the wisdom to know that recovery is possible for you.
May you eventually be happy.
May you eventually be peaceful.
May you eventually feel in love with yourself again.
God, everything feels so unreal sometimes. I make an effort to walk around my neighborhood sometimes to not lock myself inside the four corners of my room, and I look at a tree and think: is that really a tree? Or am I just imagining that it’s a tree? And it goes on to birds, the sun and the moon and myself. And then I think: do I even exist? Is anything real? Can a force in this universe distract me from this feeling of unreality?