So I admit, I lost it yesterday. I have these moments where all I want is to die. I just can’t take the pressure anymore. I feel like a failure, a real piece of shit. Then I start writing on this blog and texting close friends and everyone keeps telling me to cut the crap. Yeah. I know. I’m focusing on the negative. Too much shit really. All the fucked up memories come back to life and haunt me. I can’t think of the past. I’m not fucked up. Just a fragile porcelain doll who sometimes needs a break. Getting a break usually means not sleeping and crying all night long, but hey, we all need outlets, right?
I contemplated dying last night. I really did. Ending it all with a bottle of pills. Not waking up the next day. Seeing no point in anything I do. Giving up. Exiting like a coward. I’m still here. Breathing. My cats would miss me too much if I died now. Lol Trying to cheer myself up. I can’t be selfish. Too many people depend on me, and love me. I sometimes forget them because the omnipresent darkness swallows me whole. I feel like a clown who has to put up an act to make people laugh, but inside, I’m crying. I’m sad.
I just want so much. I’m hungry for more. I want to succeed. I want to be free from the day job, and the routine, and the pain. Will I ever be free from the pain though? Without it, I can’t write. These words will really save me.
My heart aches, but I’ll be okay. Another dawn, another day. Black is very trendy anyway so I’m fashionable in my own misery.
My subconscious should slap me for saying stuff like that.
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You are speaking to my soul with this. I’m so hungry for more. Writing is killing me. Death by a million paper cuts.
I can relate. I’m a lot older than 30 and I haven’t figured out how to be what I want to be when I grow up. Keep being dissatisfied–or you’ll become too comfortable with where you are and lose sight of where you dream to be. For me, it took a medical condition to take away my worthless job of 20 years before I could begin to see what I left discarded by the side of the road. And I have a long walk from where I am now to reclaim my discarded dreams.
The walk is worth it, though. In a way, my screwed-up health has been a blessing; I just needed to look at it with the right perspective. And that brings me back to a truth that I have known for a long time, though I go through periods of forgetting: Contentment is the key to happiness.
Yeah, I know, who wants to be content with [insert your situation here]? The trick is being grateful and content without becoming complacent. If there’s nothing more to strive for, then there’s nothing more to be grateful. Then when you reach a new goal, you can be grateful for even more, but if you fail, you’re still content… and can give it another go, or shoot for a different goal.
Sorry, I didn’t mean to sermonize. I just feel sad when I hear that you’re going through darkness–lots of us do. You have more friends than you know, although we’re not all able to sit across a table and share over coffee (or scotch). I look at one of your blog’s sidebars and it says you have over 3000 followers. Do they all consider you their friend? I’m sure not. But they all care enough to follow these posts in which you fearlessly and honestly share your thoughts.
I live all the way in California and I’ve never met you personally or even talked to you over the phone. But I have heard your voice, and we’ve traded a few emails, and through your blog I know you better than some acquaintances down the street from me. The point is, you’re never alone, and you are known by many, and if you ever decide to give up on life again, I hope you take into account that you would leave a void in the lives of more than your cats.
Dream. Dream big, dream small, just dream. Be content, but not complacent or too comfortable. I look forward to congratulating you as you begin reaching the stars you strive for. And if you want to email me again, I am always–for whatever reason you wish–available. I’ll even pour a scotch so I can say we “talked over drinks.” 🙂