I'm not suicidal, cowardice eliminated that option at the beginning of my existence...
“ You took a trip, and climbed a tree, at Robert Sledge’s party, and there you stayed til morning came… you were not the same after that.”
I feel as if I will never be the same again.
I used to be happy.
I used to love life.
I used to embrace the wind with arms outstretched.
I now dread the mornings, when I have to rise and face the world.
I see no point in my existence.
I shudder from the wind and pray it does not reach my face.
This is not I. I am not used to feeling so empty. Depression has reached a plateau, I have now accepted it, and yet it continues to eat away at me.
Every day is harder than the last.
Every class has less meaning and continually less intrigue.
I have no motivation.
I simply go on because I am a creature of habit and I know not what else to do. School is my routine as it has been for the past 13 years of my life; I go through the motions of it for fear of what lies outside the shelter of education.
I came to the realization today that my life has amounted to a pile of heaping mediocrity. I do not live in the moment. I lack the confidence it requires. I do not have a promising future. I lack the intelligence and creativity.
I have set myself up to be a servant to others. Do not get me wrong, I love doting upon my friends. But I will never be able to accept it in return because at the core, I earnestly believe I am less. I am simply less.
My writing is monotone and lacks a voice.
My comprehension of literature is that of only what words are present upon the page.
I am unable.
I am wrong.
I am less.
I am hurt.
I am alone.
I am uncertain.
I am tired.
I am void.
I am vacant.
I am boring.
I lack a voice, a character, a future, a past, a passion, a purpose. I am simply wasting perfectly good Oxygen by prolonging my seemingly bland existence.
I feel as if I will never be the same again.
I used to be happy.
I used to love life.
I used to embrace the wind with arms outstretched.
I now dread the mornings, when I have to rise and face the world.
I see no point in my existence.
I shudder from the wind and pray it does not reach my face.
This is not I. I am not used to feeling so empty. Depression has reached a plateau, I have now accepted it, and yet it continues to eat away at me.
Every day is harder than the last.
Every class has less meaning and continually less intrigue.
I have no motivation.
I simply go on because I am a creature of habit and I know not what else to do. School is my routine as it has been for the past 13 years of my life; I go through the motions of it for fear of what lies outside the shelter of education.
I came to the realization today that my life has amounted to a pile of heaping mediocrity. I do not live in the moment. I lack the confidence it requires. I do not have a promising future. I lack the intelligence and creativity.
I have set myself up to be a servant to others. Do not get me wrong, I love doting upon my friends. But I will never be able to accept it in return because at the core, I earnestly believe I am less. I am simply less.
My writing is monotone and lacks a voice.
My comprehension of literature is that of only what words are present upon the page.
I am unable.
I am wrong.
I am less.
I am hurt.
I am alone.
I am uncertain.
I am tired.
I am void.
I am vacant.
I am boring.
I lack a voice, a character, a future, a past, a passion, a purpose. I am simply wasting perfectly good Oxygen by prolonging my seemingly bland existence.