My fingertips are aimlessly hovering over the keyboard. Wondering what I could possibly write. The lighting is perfect and the music is amazing, yet the pages insist to remain blank. I could keep on typing lyrics just to fill the pages, maybe somehow I'd feel less crippled. I've never had trouble with writing before. I was always able to write, even if i sucked, even if i made no sense. I still wrote. Writing always made me feel better about my problems, about my life, about myself, about everything as a whole. There's no specific explanation, really. Writing just made me feel better. So whenever I had this pang in my chest, this prominent unhappiness that attacks you out of nowhere most times, I would get a pen and some papers and i'd write. That's how I dealt with things. Sometimes I'd write a sad poem so the sorrow would gradually seep through me and into each word I write, and sometimes i'd write a long colorful story about a girl who has it all. A happy, confident girl that has everything i ever wanted. And the possibility that I, maybe one day,
will end up like her would bring temporary hope to my desperate, worn out soul. But either way i would successfully get rid of this suffocating feeling and only then I could finally breathe again.
But this time it's different, it's not just one pang that I feel in my chest. It's not just one disappointment that i've had to endure, not just one problem that I face. So much confusion, so many feelings bottled up all at once, ready to burst right through me. I should have been able to write stacks of sad poems and colorful stories by now, but my brain refuses to release a single thought. This time i won't be able to hide behind a poem or a character in a story. This time I have to write about ME. about how I feel. about how i failed myself and everyone I love.
I am the designer of my own catastrophe. Only I control my destiny. And I failed. I've never known what failure felt like, I've never known what it's like to be less, to be helpless. A burden, a mockery, a failure. But now I do. and to those of you who haven't experienced it before, it sucks. It comes as an ambush, unforseeable and unexpected. You are unprepared and it hits you like a ton of bricks. Crashing against you, knocking the wind out of you, leaving you broken. It's like someone has ripped the floor from beneath you and you are falling. Just falling down lower and lower and never reaching the bottom. It's like something has wrapped itself around you and is constricting until all of your breath is squeezed out of your lungs. until you are nothing but a motionless living corpse pushed to the corner of a room without the right to speak, to think, to object. They think happiness is too much for you, even the air you breathe is more than you deserve. Because when they look at you they only think of one thing: How you failed.
will end up like her would bring temporary hope to my desperate, worn out soul. But either way i would successfully get rid of this suffocating feeling and only then I could finally breathe again.
But this time it's different, it's not just one pang that I feel in my chest. It's not just one disappointment that i've had to endure, not just one problem that I face. So much confusion, so many feelings bottled up all at once, ready to burst right through me. I should have been able to write stacks of sad poems and colorful stories by now, but my brain refuses to release a single thought. This time i won't be able to hide behind a poem or a character in a story. This time I have to write about ME. about how I feel. about how i failed myself and everyone I love.
I am the designer of my own catastrophe. Only I control my destiny. And I failed. I've never known what failure felt like, I've never known what it's like to be less, to be helpless. A burden, a mockery, a failure. But now I do. and to those of you who haven't experienced it before, it sucks. It comes as an ambush, unforseeable and unexpected. You are unprepared and it hits you like a ton of bricks. Crashing against you, knocking the wind out of you, leaving you broken. It's like someone has ripped the floor from beneath you and you are falling. Just falling down lower and lower and never reaching the bottom. It's like something has wrapped itself around you and is constricting until all of your breath is squeezed out of your lungs. until you are nothing but a motionless living corpse pushed to the corner of a room without the right to speak, to think, to object. They think happiness is too much for you, even the air you breathe is more than you deserve. Because when they look at you they only think of one thing: How you failed.
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