I'm not going to call it "emo". "Sad" is much less overused and trendy.
Why have I made such a mess of my life? I try to forget the stupid mistakes I've made, but the physical symtpoms of the depression are far too hasty to remind me. The heavy heart; the tightened stomach; the heavy lungs that never seem to satisfy my desire for oxygen; the tight throat that probably doesn't do much to help them; feverish heat and panic attacks.
I got so much right. Everything I wanted to have at this point in my life is here. But everything isn't quite perfect. Everything is just a cheapened replica of the utopia i've been trying to build. It taunts me. I'd rather live in a real hell than this fragile prototype heaven.
And all because I didn't have quite enough guts, quite enough determination, quite enough passion or vision. I promise myself I'll do everything right in the future, but I won't. It won't be with hindsight that I realise I've repeated my mistakes. I'll know im doing it all along, but just be too afraid to change it.
Yet as I try to overcome the problems, they themselves distract me, and if they can't distract me, they lull me back to the safety and security of my fake world to snort another line of my mental crack.
My fake world that makes me feel so sad feels so secure and real, and everything else seems empty like I'm watching myself wade around a dream in the third person. The distractions don't last. They don't sit in my mind as I try to fall asleep.
I don't want to escape. I want to stay here and keep trying to summon the courage to make my dream world real. The real world could only ever be second best. This may be as good as it gets.
I got so much right. Everything I wanted to have at this point in my life is here. But everything isn't quite perfect. Everything is just a cheapened replica of the utopia i've been trying to build. It taunts me. I'd rather live in a real hell than this fragile prototype heaven.
And all because I didn't have quite enough guts, quite enough determination, quite enough passion or vision. I promise myself I'll do everything right in the future, but I won't. It won't be with hindsight that I realise I've repeated my mistakes. I'll know im doing it all along, but just be too afraid to change it.
Yet as I try to overcome the problems, they themselves distract me, and if they can't distract me, they lull me back to the safety and security of my fake world to snort another line of my mental crack.
My fake world that makes me feel so sad feels so secure and real, and everything else seems empty like I'm watching myself wade around a dream in the third person. The distractions don't last. They don't sit in my mind as I try to fall asleep.
I don't want to escape. I want to stay here and keep trying to summon the courage to make my dream world real. The real world could only ever be second best. This may be as good as it gets.