surreal vs. so real
Sometimes I stand up and walk aimlessly around the room, thinking the air is thinner and easier to breathe by the window, therefore it will move more quickly to my brain and suddenly thinking will become that much more efficient, but that doesn't help. I'm suffocating on an invisible perfection that I will never touch. I wonder why I place this incredible pressure upon myself. In my mind, I have to be and do something great, and by great I mean superhuman. I have to be better than something...a something I can't even define in all honesty. I just feel so inept. Each day passing, I feel a strange pressure in my chest that becomes stronger and a nausea that leaves me aching for a sleep I don't have to wake up from, except to eat and bathe. I worry that I won't succeed. What's even more troubling is that I don't even know what it is I am so scared to fail at doing or being. More so, I worry that my mother won't be proud of me. She's given up so much, and I feel as though it is my obligation to give her some type or retribution for her sacrifices. For the first time in my life I am truly without direction, but sadly, not without consequence. I am awaiting divine intervention, if such a thing exists. When I grow up, there are so many things I want to be and see and do and experience and accomplish. What is the age of "grown up" anyway? I am afraid of dying without ever having left my mark on the world. The more depressing possibility is that I already have and it wasn't a very worthy mark anyway.