Sometimes I wonder if this life is worth it.
I look at life and see endless possibilities, but at the same time just possibilities that cannot be obtained. Possibilities that could lead to a successful life… a happy life, but for some reason my body, my mind just cannot get a move on. Why do I feel so slow? Why do I feel like my life is going in slow motion and I’m missing every milestone? I don’t understand.
Parts of me just want to be gone from this world, but to think of what I’m leaving behind… I think that hurts me more. Not just family or friends but all the lives I could have been.
I wonder yet dread, all the lives I could have been. Where i would be, how happy I would be, instead of this empty sad void with a broken mask with a smile in a life that yearns for another. Many have pasted and there are more to come, but where does the motivation come?
I also know deep down that I need help, but at the same time… it feels like I am good enough that I don’t. I think it’s the self awareness that I need help and refuse it what makes me think that I am far beyond help. I am aware of the world, my life and my predicaments. I’m aware of what people expect of me and I still ignore it. I think that’s ignorant and selfish of me. To know that people want to help and I still push away because I am scared of looking like I’m lost. I’m scared of the disappointment.
I’m heartbroken over a world I can’t fix and people I yearn to help, but how can I even help when I can’t even help myself. A broken individual, with not even a bad life, just a broken mind. When did I get like this? It makes me so sad. It confuses me, because the world is also beautiful and I get to see it everyday, but the momentary solitude with a quiet mind can be so deadly. It can stab you in the heart, because the head and the heart are always at battle.
So many emotions, so many thoughts… my escape is writing and even then, I’ve lost my touch and love for it. Some how, a part of me thinks this is poetic, but it’s just a brief glimpse in a mind of an individual. A nobody who is amongst billions of others. Maybe in one of those lives, I could have been a writer, whose passions overflows page to page. Instead, I write on a phone, sad music in her ears as she wallows in her feels.
But i guess that’s okay, because in the grand scheme of things… this is nothing. This will only be a memory. Like the old historians and poets, there lives are told in the beauty of their art. It’s only a glimpse as minute details are lost in the days and years. Who knew.
I just feel heartbroken over the people who feel like this all the time, because I definitely don’t have it hard but those moments make me feel so much empathy for them. Even sympathy. I wish them all the best in their days.
I wonder if they’ve done the same for me.
Love, one broken person to another
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