Note to Self (197) 8 Ball

eightballLooks easy to do right? You shake the ball and wait for the answer every time you’re unsure about doing something. I admit my life would be much easier that way. No pondering for days, no headache, no heartache, no depression, no therapy. Life isn’t so cruel, I would think, and my worries would become a mere waste of my precious time.

Yet, we all know there’s no magic eight ball to help us answer the questions we are afraid to ask the most. God isn’t there to tell us what to do. He simply guides us toward the light, and leaves us with the burden to decide whether we want to get blinded by it or not. No future avatar of myself is talking to me and giving me advice either for that matter. There’s nothing but the deafening silence, and the inner voice inside my head driving me insane.

That’s why I used to drink. To escape. To apply a bandage over my thoughts and give myself some room to breathe. Did drinking take me anywhere? Nope. Did it help? Absolutely not. I’ve been foolish for too long. I must stay sober for a while, until I get my act together. The introspection has started, and it is painful. I always thought the characters from my stories weren’t really the voice of my subconscious. They were. They always are. Screaming at me, showing me the blinding truth, and I chose to ignore it.

My magic eight ball belongs to an unattainable dream. The one of a life I long to reach, away from the memories that polluted my current existence for too long. Lots of work to do. Many questions to ask. And I can shake the eight ball as much as I can, in the end, it’s up to me to make the right decision while never knowing if I really followed the good path, or if I made a horrible mistake once again.

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