I look at everyone and how they go about with their lives, the people they surround themselves with, how far they have gotten and how much further they are set to go. And then I look at me. Me and my immersion in self-loathing, self-destructive bubble. Fun. I am so easily, constantly pissed I forgot how it's like to really feel that priceless bliss that makes you wanna hug and kiss everyone you set eyes on. That kind of elation you get when everything seems fine and that there is not a single need to worry. Lately, all I do is that - worry. And wallow. And cry. Fucking big cry baby. I mean yeah, I still go out with my friends and that would always tug my happy strings. But in between those hearty laughters, that whiny, little bitch of a voice at the back of my mind would always take a slight poke, shattering what very little happiness I have successfully garnered. I am a living, walking, breathing piece of bitter, rotten meat. I can feel an actual emptiness inside of me, like a gush of wind is dancing in and out of it. Heaviness and weightlessness all at once.
I think that this has a lot to do with my life's absence of something to spend all my time and energy on. As of today, I only went out of my room twice. 1. To pee. 2. To get something to drink. If only there is something else to do. If only even one of the thousand interviews I went to called me back. If only I knew what the hell is sooo wrong with me that anyone would pick that person who says 'I will gonna" over me for a job. If only life was fair. If only I was billionaire. Boo fucking hoo.
"That should be me." That shit always comes out of my wretched mind every time I see yet another status update/picture/tweet about how oh so wonderful his/her life is. I mean, of course that should be me! Of course I should have a wonderful life too! Of course I deserve that too! What, am I too horrible a person to deserve this endless stretch of nothingness? I don't recall killing or betraying anyone, or smashing someone's head with my bare hands. So why the scarcity of good fortune? I never wanted to be a superstar. Okay maybe sometimes I do, not the point. The point is that all I want is for things to be okay. Anything other than sad, or painful or complicated. That simple. Is that really too much to ask for?
Or am I doing this to myself? Is something terribly wrong with me that no amount of happiness can resuscitate me from this hell hole I've dug myself into? That is the question. That is where the equation winds up to. That is the big, fat X I struggle so hard to look for, through and despite the sea of complicated numbers that steer me far from sanity. Is it really me and not life itself?
Sunday, October 14, 2012
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