How does one admit they are lost and need help, if by the very act of doing this implies they know what kind of help they need when asked “What can I do to help?” from those willing to extend a hand. If only to stand here very alone, very scared, very secluded on an island filled with very sporadic ups and downs. Mortality creeping into every thought. The idea of blackness and nothing, unable to grasp it. Feeling like that could happen before ever getting to feel what it is to live.
To be happy…To be truly happy. To fullfil the childhood idea of happiness.
The funny part is the longer I go on, the more my mind begins to halt it’s ability to age with me. My eyes deceive me about those around me and my reality creeps up again, telling me, you waisted the days when you could have established better. Of course most is a facade and a dirty anxiety to getting older. I am not older than but a minute ago, yet my vision sees an age that is mixed with those, who to them, wonder why I am saying things like, “back in my day” as they see me not as I see myself. To be a little confused would be a great affliction. But instead it is a chaos storm of time.
I hesitate. That is the biggest problem, my hesitation. The hesitation to jump. I never hesitated, perhaps because I felt there was much more time ahead of me. So I jumped, jumped into left and right. I love so many things but can devote myself to nothing in particular. When you feel like you are running out of time, you tend to be more cautious with your leaps. “I envy your freedom” is a phrase I hear a lot, but with pure freedom comes, a feeling of falling. Without the ground and walls, you must be able to grasp to the metaphysical walls of your passions and love. So I pushed forward and pressed against all my passions and loves, yet nothing stuck after I began to slip again, falling slowly down to my knees then to my butt pressed against that wall, that felt comforting. Remembering what it felt like, knowing I did the right thing by letting it go, but afraid of the ground below again. Fear is where is gets scary, because fear can embody itself into your dreams, your life, your mind, and your happiness.
My mind now treats me as if I am weak, attacking at the happy moments where I can forget about the endless days and dreams of memories and futures never happened or half experienced.
So I go day to day, feeling more detached from myself than normal, wishing I could just grasp onto it all and ball my eyes out into it. Letting it understand with each drop, what my mind is thinking. Not having to say a damn word, write a word, think a thought. It would just be a perfect inception of who I can become.
Is it a location, did I jump the gun, did my fear take me to a place where I wasn’t ready for yet, will it help if I go back, will it make it worse, should I stay, should I give in, should I go even crazier. How do you take the giant steps when the little ones are so painfully excruciating on your mind that you need to dose yourself into the calming summer winds that blow near the strike of 2 am, which you normally sleep through, unlike the days prior where that was when it all began.
I want to die happy. And if I died today I would not be happy. I would not be anything but a shell of hopes, dreams, ambitions, and past achievements. I guess in your eyes, I may have done well, but in my eyes, I need to be more than what I have been.
I want to die first and foremost knowing I experienced loves embrace, the warmth of a light on at home when walking toward it. Even finding the perfect moment, is like a Greek tragedy, my eyes plunging the knife into my mind while I embrace the facts in-front of me. Feeling betrayed by my own ideas of what life should have been. Feeling as though I betrayed myself by not making life the way I wanted it to be.
I could continue to make examples and hidden messages, but that is all I wanted to share for now. The end.