I can never listen to the same songs again. There’s nothing wrong with them, there’s just something wrong with me. Every time I listen, I can hear your voice. The sharp intake of your breath, they fill the intervals where my sobbing halts. I can’t blame anyone else for this. I suffer the consequences of my actions, it’s the right thing to do. The decent thing to do. What no one tells you is that it isn’t a sharp burst of pain. It’s a slow agonizing poison. Blooming from your chest, chokes out your voice. Ruins your days, your mindset, your outlook on life. The breaths get harder, but all around you everyone looks fine. That is, until they look at you. The judgement, the hatred, indeed even the pity. I don’t want it. I just want to be left alone. And at the same time I want to be comforted. I want to be told everything’s going to be okay. I want to know that there’s someone there that will never leave me. But to ask that of anyone is selfish to the highest degree. How can I ask someone to stay with me when I can’t even stand myself? How could I torture another human to appease my own suffering. Ironically, it would cause more grief for both of the afflicted. Everything tells me that I should kill myself. What do I have to live for? A World that doesn’t care. People that don’t care about the world. People that don’t care about other people. I live in a world of parasites and leeches. I am not excluded. Even now I siphon the happiness from others for no benefit. Perhaps this is something all of humanity must go through. A phase of depression. After all, it seems that all those that succeed, that do well seem to become depressed. How comical it would be if depression was a sign of success. And how stupid we would be to pursue such a dream. I could never kill myself. Whether out of cowardice or the will to live, though I’m fairly certain everyone’s entertained the thought before.
Dear Me,
The songs will regain their beauty. You just have to wait and let yourself recover. I know that now it doesn’t seem like anyone cares, but if you don’t show it how are they supposed to know? I know it’s hard to be vulnerable, it’s hard to let people in when you’ve just been hurt by people you cared about, but I also know that you’re in your own way. You want someone to comfort you? Then let them. Perhaps they may suffer if you let them in, but that just means you need to be there for them when they need it. I’m sorry, but your suffering is permanent. Nothing will remove the scar in your chest. It’s is there to stay. It’s there to show you that you went through agony and made it out alive. Now it’s up to you to get better, to become better, to make yourself better than when you went in. Suicide is selfish. You forfeit your own life at the cost of others’ suffering. You have no right to take the life that others have given you. You may not feel happy now, you may feel like shit. But it’ll pass and you’ll see that you had so much more than you thought you had. And what you lost? Well, it wasn’t really all that much at all. Those people that decided you weren’t worth their time aren’t worth yours. The opportunities you lost give you time to capitalize on new ones. That thing you wanted so deeply now is something that you’ll pass on later. Ultimately, this world is horrible. Each generation believes themselves to be better than the one before and the one after it. Humanity is innately flawed. Sad as it is to say, we are human. Both of us will make many many many many many many many many more mistakes in our lifetime. But the value of each mistake depends on what we make of them. You made a mistake. Multiple really. But you stand to gain so much from this experience. The pain is something you have to feel now so that later you can empathize with others. You need to experience to understand. We humans are innately flawed, yes. But at least we can be innately flawed together, and help each other grow from it. Let other people help you. You will find happiness there. Happy New Year me.
Mediocrity 