Dear anyone who is reading this,
In two years I become an adult. It’s scary, I’m not ready for it. I barely had a childhood. I was constantly having to take care of my siblings and I had no friends. I remember one summer as a kid I sat in my room everyday for almost the whole summer. I didn't want to eat, I couldn’t sleep, I just wanted to sit in my bed alone with my thoughts. After that I fell into a cycle of not caring about anything because what's the point if we’re all going to die someday anyways. We all walk through life saying one day when this happens, I’ll be happy, then we get that thing and we still aren't satisfied. We plead for more, none of it ever being enough. And then one day we’re an old shriveled up grandparent on the edge of death's bed and we wonder where all of it went. And then we die. So, what’s the point?
End of thought one.
We are on the brink of World War lll, and ultimately the extinction of mankind all together. Man being its own worst enemy. I want to scream at all the evil in our world and bring it down. I don’t understand why man can’t just help one another and we all take care of one another. If there's an argument the community takes a vote on who is right and that's that, we don’t hold a grudge we just live peaceably and freely with one another. Our world would be a much better place. But it’s not because evil still lurks on our earth. We are all too greedy, simply imbeciles to even fully comprehend the concept of kindness. (that was a lot of k sounds at the end)
End of thought two.
Depression sinks me down like a gravitational pull back down to the earth. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, my thoughts have been overtaken by the monster inside of me. No one understands. “Just be happy.” They say it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. They don’t understand how hard I have to try each day just to seem normal. Inside I’m crying and screaming for help. Throwing a full on toddler tantrum, but I’m okay. I want to tell them how much it hurts. How the weight of my thoughts is too much for me to carry on my own. But I’m scared. What if they throw me out like the piece of trash I am? What if they don’t want me anymore? What then? I wish I could be happy but I don’t know how because I can never get rid of this knowledge in my head. The knowledge of how horrible our world really is. The knowledge that I can never escape till I die. …Till I die. I tie a noose around my neck and struggle to breathe, I stab a dagger through my heart, I sink under the water letting the river pull my weightless body, I overdose on a couple bottles of pills. But I’m still here. WHY AM I STILL HERE?! All I want is for death to consume and overtake my intoxicated body. To be buried six feet under and have nothing but the worms to talk to. But I’m scared to die because I don’t have a single clue what comes after death. And I don't think I’m ready to know either.
End of thought three.
The walls in my house have heard every cry for help I’ve sent God, every argument I’ve had with my family, every desperate plea I’ve spoken, every secret I’ve whispered, I’ve even had a conversation with the walls in my room. Walls are so under appreciated. Today, I thank you walls.
End of thought four.
Everything has the potential to be the last thing. Tomorrow might be the last day I’m on this earth. Today might be the last time I remember an old friend from elementary. Yesterday could have been the last day I remembered to call my Grandma before it was too late. When I meet someone, sometimes, all I can think about is the fact that maybe that would be the last time I am seeing them. Maybe things between us will change. Maybe tragedy will strike. Maybe moving away would be an option. Whatever the reason, I can’t stop thinking about how maybe it’s the last time I’ll see them. Or, if they ever wonder if that’s the last time they’ll ever see me.
When I go somewhere, I don’t know whether I’ll come back. When I go somewhere, anywhere, I don’t have any idea if it’s the last time I’ll ever go there. No matter how much I enjoyed it, there are places I have not returned to yet, if I would ever. What if I don’t make enough memories and there’s no way for me to get back there? This brings me to another thought. What even is time as we know it? Who was the person that one day woke up and just randomly decided to count to sixty and call it one minute and everyone else just went along with it.
End of thought five.
Is there such a thing as your real self or does your self change as time passes and given the circumstances you are in? I’ve heard many people call me two faced, and I eighty percent agree with them. I think it’s deep rooted from my childhood. Being the mild child my siblings got most things they asked for, I however had to manipulate to get the things I wanted. I know it sounds horrible but it was the only way. I try not to manipulate people anymore but sometimes it comes naturally and I really need to get out of that habit. I wonder if someone made an exact replica of me, down to the tiniest cellular detail, would it become me? Or would it somehow still be missing something?
End of thought six.