This is more of a mind dump than it is a properly structured post. I want to write freely, quickly and confidently like before. I guess behind writing poetry, prose, and quotes I also want to write personal essays, and I’ve been reading some stuff about how to create one, and this is one way to create one—by writing in a stream of consciousness to keep the creative juices flowing.
I actually like writing in freestyle because it reminds me of the time when blogging was simply blogging. Just taking everything that’s in my head and writing it down and feeling good about doing so. It’s therapeutic writing about anything, but it can also be self-destructive. For me, at least.
Anxiety and Pure-OCD really do affect my writing even if I don’t want to and if something feels wrong, I will delete it. You see, I even have this thing about the word count being perfect. Let’s call it “word count ocd” just in case someone might search this term on google. I like the feeling that bam! It’s exactly 500 words or 300 words or 60 words since six is like a “magical number” that my brain likes to think it is and eight is like a “bad luck number” that my brain likes to think it is.
This is one of the things that makes me want to kill myself because it’s so fucking weird and it makes me feel so fucking alone. I’ve already picked my destination to jump, and there are simply 108 days left for me to live.
I’ll be leaving my last collection which is beautiful nothingness. I have nothing to say about it for now. I’m sleep deprived again, and I can feel the weight of darkness pushing me deeper in this sea of uncertainty.
If my cause of death could be summarized in a single word, it’s uncertainty.
If there’s no other way.
If there’s nothing that can make these obsessions go away.
Then nothing in this world could make me stay.
I have a date in mind, and that’s March 3, 2019, my original plan since I was in the process of writing my second poetry collection. I guess this is my fate and I have 122 days left on this blue planet of ours.
Sometimes I wonder what’s beyond this human existence. I hope it will be lovely. But there’s always an idea in the back of my head that there’s nothing. It will be like fading into an eternal sleep where I’ll never wake up.
Suicide is now my shield for suffering. I’ll focus on the things that matter to me before I depart. In the end, I’ll always be alone, and it’s better to die alone peacefully than to live alone and forever stand at the edge of insanity.
Life will be over before I know it.
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.
I am held captive by my own thoughts that I think I would end up spending my entire life through excessive introspection.
—Confessions of a Wallflower, page 67
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?