I’ve thought about death, multiple times a day, every day. In the car I’d get lost in thought, thinking about what it’d be like if another car crashed through the windshield or if a car suddenly sped on an intersection and hit my side of the car. I look in a mirror and think of what I’d look like if I was laying peacefully inside a casket –I’d call myself beautiful then.
Dark thoughts linger like vines that refuse to stop growing and be cut away from me. I fight it, I do. I look up, right, and then left. But I can’t seem to find even a slight ray of light anywhere.
But in reality, I could never be as selfish. I think too much about the people that surround me. My family, my friends, my loved ones –every person who knows me the way they want to know me. There are a million things wrong with this world; I can spend an entire lifetime telling you each and every reason for me to hate this world –including me. But I’m not up for that, I’m sorry.
I don’t want to add fuel to the fire –the same fire that consumes me inside, every day. Instead I’ll tell you my reasons to keep living, because that’s what I need. That’s what I need to remember, even though more than half of these reasons are built on lies.
I live for the future –the million possibilities that everything could possibly be better. I live for the life I dream for. Where I can stop worrying about everyone and whether or not they love or like me. Where I can be free to be who I am, and to do what I want. There will be no more fears of hurting those I love, because it won’t matter anymore. I’ll think of me and only me. I’ll think of my dreams and how to fulfill each one. I’ll close my eyes and trip and fall –make mistakes and regret them all. I’ll live, not survive.
I have a million regrets. A million chances I let slip through my fingers. So much wasted time trying in vain to make everyone happy. I lost myself in the process. I lost who I am –the endless possibilities of who I could be. Instead I followed patterns and let myself be molded into shape and painted into the canvas the way they thought would make me beautiful.
I’ve lost hope multiple times. I’ve lost sight of the future I want. My goals, my dreams, me –I lost it all. I gave up on everything because in my head, it won’t mean anything if I was happy and those I love weren’t. But at the end of the day, I will lose a lot of people. People who I thought would always be there, people who I thought loved me simply because I am me. I will lose them all one day. And one day I won’t care. I won’t care how many backs turn, how many goodbyes are thrown –I won’t care how much it hurts. Because all I’ll care about is what makes me happy.
Writing this now, makes me lose hope instead of making me hopeful. Writing this is like saying a promise I know I will one day break. I don’t trust myself enough to push through with this and the somedays I yearn for. I know myself enough to know that a day where I’ll care only about me, will never come.
What good is life if I let others live it for me? what good is time if I let it slip through my fingers –wasted and forgotten? What good is hope if I know it will one day leave me? what if it already has?
I lie awake in bed at night, after properly saying goodnight to everyone I care for, because what if I don’t wake up tomorrow? What if I don’t want to wake up tomorrow? And what if that will be a wish come true? I’m growing impatient of waiting for someday. And with each day that passes by I lose a part of me over and over again.
I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I can’t keep fighting a fight I know I will never win. No one can help me, I cant even help myself. People can only watch in the sidelines or turn their heads away and pretend not to notice that I’m slowly burning out.
I feel guilty writing this. I feel sorry for all my friends who have always leaned on me and depended on me to make them laugh and feel better about a petty problem that will never compare to what I face each day. But of course I never tell them that. Instead I nod, I listen, I tell them what I think and when they one day realize that I’ve never once told them about my problems, and they suddenly ask if I’m okay, I will smile and tell them I’m okay.
I’m okay. I really am. The most overrated lie everyone says every single day. Why can’t we say we’re okay? Why can’t we say something is wrong? Because it doesn’t and will never help. Why? Because it only adds to the guilt. It only adds to the darkness, the vines, the thorns and the pain. If you can’t handle such a trivial problem like breaking up with a boyfriend, then how can I tell you about the demons I sleep with every night.
Some will notice that something is wrong with my too perfect smile, and my too perfect life. Some will see through the curtains where the real me hides. But it will all be too late. Because there’s no way to save the damsel who’s not even distressed about her being in danger.