I don't know.
That seems to be my answer to everything, nowadays. How are you? I don't know. Are you okay? I don't know.
I just know that this isn't the type of person I want to be. This isn't the kind of life I want to live. But what am I supposed to do about it? How am I supposed to fix this? I don't know.
I'm so sad. Maybe it's the weather--the rain pouring outside and the little drops of water hitting my window sill that make my tears do the same thing. Maybe it's my lack of sleep--more hours awake just lead to more hours in despair and in deep thought of how miserable everything is, of how everything seems to be falling apart.
My heart feels so heavy inside my chest that it hurts to even breathe, sometimes. Some people tell me--what you're feeling, that pressure inside your chest, it hurts, but it tells you that you're alive. You have to feel the pain to know that you're alive.
As if it's enough to be alive.
Because, I already know how it's like to be alive, and I don't like it.
I don't like waking up everyday with my palms sweaty from anxiety, dreading what's going to happen on my way to school or afraid of how I'm going to face the people that I've turned my back on and closed off on. I don't like that I go through each day of my life just waiting for it to end--how could 24 hours possibly last this long? I don't like that I look forward to spending half of my time asleep just because sleeping makes me dream of all things beautiful--things that I wish would come true when I wake up, but would just evanesce into thin air. The other half of the time, I would spend sulking and wallowing in self pity, constantly reminding myself of how alone and unloved I am. I don't like that weekends equate more demons in my head and more tears streaming down my face, instead of more time to go out for dinner with my friends or more time to spend with my family that I love so dearly. I don't like that wanting alcohol equates to wanting to stop thinking about what's wrong with me even for just a second, instead of wanting to celebrate a beautiful life.
I don't like that in this life, the only kind of "celebration" that I know of is to celebrate having survived an agonizingly slow day without breaking down or shutting everyone off. Which, I've noticed, is something that not everybody does or understands. And I see their point--a mere survival doesn't exactly call for a celebration, does it?
You see, the thing is, for those of us who just don't know--why we're here, how we're here, and IF we should even be here, surviving means everything. Surviving a day without tears is a job promotion. Surviving a full night's sleep, undisturbed, is to be able to buy a house. Surviving a day without a slit to the wrist is falling in love.
Surviving and being happy at the end of the day, something so seemingly normal to other people, is so foreign to us--a mere dream that seems so unreachable and unattainable.
So to those of you who are part of "other people", you're lucky. I'm happy for you, I genuinely am, and I hope that the universe allows you to keep on living your life the way you do, because as normal and mundane as it may seem to you, it's something that some of us can only hope to yearn for.
But to those of you who are part of "us", those who are like me, what are we to do?
Does anybody know a way out? Is there even a way out? Because I sincerely do not know. I don't even know what I've gotten myself into, much less how to get myself out of it. I don't know how to put the situation that I'm in into context. All I see are fragments of negativity, loneliness, darkness, and perhaps little hints of joy or love here and there, but nothing more. And it makes me feel so helpless. It makes me sink even deeper into this dark hole that I'm in, this miserable place that I so badly want to leave and forget about.
It angers me how I've allowed whatever this is to consume my thoughts and my life when I know absolutely nothing about it. It angers me how I want to get out and to run and to leave and to never look back, but every time I try to, I just end up entangling myself even worse into this wretched situation, making it more difficult to break free.
So tell me: am I hopeless? Will someone ever come save me and take me home? I miss home.
---
I'm sorry for this, whatever this is. This could be a beautifully tragic piece, or a random and messy clump of words and feelings that I've managed to literally just vomit out of my system, or a cry for help. I don't know. I'll never know.
