The world eats me alive everyday and it aches to breathe. Yet I persist, I live despite the pain, hoping that tommorow will be better.
It's hard to remember the last time I didn't feel like this. The only constant in my life has been this visceral anguish, stabbing me in my ribs. I feel like failed. Of course, comparison is the theif of joy however I experience an indescribable guilt of incompetence when I am not able to do things that other people my age are able to do with ease, such as ; (these feel soo embarrassing to admit) asking for help, speaking up, thinking rationally instead of acting on my impulsive thoughts, making my bed in the morning , keeping my cupboard clean. I wonder what life lesson did I miss — why am I so sensitive ? Why doesn't my body feel in my control when my emotions take over? I know i'm young, but I have so many regrets. I constantly think about what could've been if I was brave, bold, spontaneous, most importantly — not lazy.
Is it damning to say that I don't know what to do with this? I wish, I yearn to be guided, to be told what to do because I am extremely clueless. People mistake my innocence as disguised slyness, sometimes as stupidity — an invite to take advantage of me. I feel sick and tired of myself. My heart bleeds and I can't stop it. I am so used to everything hurting, i'm scared that when it wont it will feel foreign as if it's not meant for me. That I won't be able to adjust. Today, it hurts to breathe, to live, to write.
(I'm writing this after experiencing a long writer's block. I think I wasn't able to write because I wasn't being honest with myself, ignoring and undermining my feelings. Although this is humiliating to say out loud, it's important. Like the weight of pent-up frustration finally being lifted off my shoulders.)
