I’d assume that with having so much sh*t going on in my life I’d be able to write pages and pages on what has happened and what I felt and what I’ve been doing but none of that seems to be happening. I’d assume that I’d be able to write interesting, poetic and emotional pieces that people would find interesting because drama is something that almost everyone seems to find somewhat interesting even if it has nothing to do with them.
I can remember being able to express things easily and to be able to do it consistently as a way to give myself some sort of outlet but I feel as though the more time that passes the more of that skill I lose. Of course, losing things means that you can still technically find what your missing – in short, it will come back to you. Maybe that’s part of the reason as to why I prefer saying ‘I want to get rid of weight’ instead of simply saying I want to lose it. Okay, I’m getting off topic.
All I want is to find that skill, I seriously hope it is lost and can be found and that it isn’t gone or dying in a ditch somewhere I’ll never find.
At the beginning of Secondary School I can thoroughly remember being able to fake a smile, fake a laugh….But back then, I was still trying to swim, I still had a little light of hope that maybe I’d be able to go against the current, or that someone would reach in and pull me out. That never happened. I was alone, isolated. I couldn’t do anything at all. I remember being committed to school work during the first two terms – I did my homework on time and never the night before, I revised for exams regardless of whether they were small quizzes or the obstacle that separated me and the ultimate goal. But that changed too, just like everything else does.
It was around this time that I knew that I was really not okay. But I didn’t tell anyone.
I lost motivation in everything, I was lazy, I did work the lunch or break before the lesson it was due, I’d dropped out of all the clubs that I was in, I was no longer a dedicated student, I wasn’t a good sports captain, I wasn’t a good me. I threw excuse after excuse at teacher after teacher. I can remember every single detail. It was awful. I was angry at the world, at myself. They say that anger is just sadness’s shield. I was lonely and I masked that with humor. I’m a naturally sarcastic person so it wasn’t difficult to do. I was empty and that was masked with boredom. But hey, maybe I was bored of this life, this sick, disgusting reality.
I had sunk too deep to swim by then. And maybe, just maybe, I secretly wanted to drown.
I fear that it will get to the point where I won’t be able to do things like I can now. I fear that I will stop writing, that I will stop reading, that I will stop laughing…I fear that I will stop loving. Everyone has a breaking point at which you stop, for some, they will overcome it and time will help heal the wounds that have caused them so much agonising pain. And maybe for others, they won’t continue. Maybe they will freeze and perhaps their blood will stop flowing, perhaps their hearts will stop beating, perhaps their walls will come crashing down onto them and they will be buried in all the rubble and debris, hidden so deep that no one will know they are there and so they will suffocate, inhale all the dust and start coughing up their lungs and go through even more pain as each and every one of their bones break from the weight of their crumbling world on top of them. They will feel their emotions swirl around and mix with their leaking blood and melting organs and the thoughts that they have tried so hard to keep away will break through the wall they tried so hard to build and they will run wild and free bouncing off the insides of their skull, speeding faster than light until eventually, everything stops. Everything stops. And the world outside will continue to go on because nothing will ever stop for the sake of a single persons life. There’s too much hate and selfishness and too much worrying over other things thus those who cannot overcome the pain will be ignored and forgotten soon after they have disappeared.
So, I am scared. Not of death, but of people. Certain people are monsters who have woven themselves into existence, they dress like us, act like us. They pretend but are not genuine. There is nothing wrong with the world. Their is something wrong with the people who inhibit it.
Wolves in sheep’s clothing..
I’ve rambled on for a while now, if you’ve read all the way to the end- THANK YOU 🙂
Anyways, I can’t commit to writing every day so I might just publish things when I feel like it or maybe I’ll dedicate a day for writing. I hope you’re doing good, have a lovely day x
Written by: Me
Image: Not mine