A short piece of mortality. Here’s some writing I found, dated April 2015.
I’m not sure how to feel often times. I can’t say I’ve really even acknowledged that I’ve been feeling at all. I guess it’s just strange to me, the thought that I could be feeling emotions that aren’t directly linked to events. I try not to think about that. It’s strange how one of the things that someone is so thankful for can also be the same thing they are ungrateful for. How we can all be so grateful that someone walked into our life and then maybe just a year later be wishing for anything but to have to go on living with the results that came of that. It’s weird that they could be sitting there talking to me and it seemed so far away. It’s strange how I could barely keep my eyes focused but once I did I could only seem to focus on the pattern and threads making up my blanket…. It was deceitful, it appeared as a maze. Could possibly have been because of the way it was ruffled, the short fluff pointing to a few different directions, or maybe it was just because it knew I was looking for a way out.
I’ve never heard voices echo like that. I’ve never seen so many things so far away. I’ve never felt so detached from my reality. Was it just that the world had created some sort of simulation, where I could be looking through the eyes of a woman living her life? It didn’t seem like the eyes and ears that had been attached to my consciousness were also attached to the mouth that was being spoken out of through me. It seemed as though suddenly everything sounded clearer and scripted, as if reality wasn’t exactly what it says it is. It was as if my entire life was created by something bigger than me, as if I were setup and being led to believe I was in control of my life. Something had to be making all these decisions and leading me to believe I was. But whom? Was it a god? Or just another form of life who successfully conceived this little charade – for what, the enjoyment of their community? Was I just an ant in their society? Was I being laughed at right now?
I still have no idea what I’m doing. I have no idea what I’m saying, and that’s not just because I feel like I’m a puppet. I’m overall confused. I don’t know why I’m writing, yet I don’t know what else to do. I don’t understand why I’m breathing, or rather how I’m breathing. I’ve never been this unsure of anything.
I was told I should be adding to my writings a bit more about the events of my life to go with the thoughts I so often feel. However, that’s difficult to do for me. I’m so wrapped up in myself, in my thoughts, that it’s like I don’t even know what’s going on outside of me. I’m always alone. I sit here in my room, in this small house, in the dark lighting. I sleep until I wake up and I stay awake until I fall asleep, whenever that may be. I usually sleep every 3-4 hours. I think the worst part of my situation is seeing the clock say 8, whether that’s AM or PM. I look over at my bedside table, crowded with prescription bottles, take a deep breath, and take my medications. Completely putting my trust in science and chemicals to let me live someday. What I’m doing right now isn’t living, but attempting to survive my circumstances.
I was told that my entry for yesterday was great. Today I am told to write how I’ve felt overall in the past month. I’m not exactly sure on what to say for that. A few words to sum it up might be…Exhausted. Overwhelmed. Hopeless. Tired. Bitter. Very, very bitter.
My eyes are burning horribly. I think I am damaging my corneas, staring at screens and objects, eyes unfocused. Or maybe they are just burning from the tears. I thought my body would’ve been accustomed to that by now.
It’s crazy that this was only a year ago. This sounds like me my whole life.