Ethereality

Giving up is when you feel finished to the extreme. To where you don’t have a purpose. Where you feel like it’s you against the world. Where you can’t even confide in the people you love. Just laying in bed for hours and days not speaking. Feeling your throat close up slowly because you don’t have the willpower to let yourself go. Wanting to take that pain reliever you hide and pressing it to yourself so you can escape the mentality you’ve buried yourself in. Giving up is letting yourself go to the demons that have grown inside you during your hardest and lowest times. It’s when your eyes are so puffy after hours of letting the rivers of pain stream down into your pillow while having to bite into your palm, screaming until your throat is scorching. You don’t see a path anymore just a void of pain. Where you lay awake while the rest are sleeping, thinking of ways you can end it, scheming of ways to go in one swipe. Giving up is feeling sorry for yourself. Where you mourn that child you used to be. Apologizing to the child that you couldn’t keep it up. Where you feel like a failure because everyone else could do it but it feels like you failed a test you studied for for weeks to no end. Giving up is when you know you’re alive but you’re not living. When you feel like your body and mind are two separate forces fighting against each other. Feeling empty and dead and wishing to stop time and try to rewind it to where you can fix everything. Praying to stop the thoughts and feelings. Having to rely on anything to distract yourself until you have nothing left. Having to choose between being selfish and taking the high road or staying to make everyone else happier but living on the low road.

Being honest to myself, I can’t do this anymore. Having to tell myself to keep running a marathon that everyone else already finished. Seeing the finish line but always being never close enough to cross it. Having to say goodbye to myself before I sleep every night in hopes I don’t wake up. Having to convince yourself that it gets better. Almost just almost. But almost is never enough. Fighting between giving in and quitting the marathon or keep running but never being able to cross the finish line. Yes I’m fucking done. But with what? Myself or this world? Do I blame myself for not fighting hard enough or do I blame the world for not giving me a softer path? What the fuck do I have left anymore.

I wanna do something that matters. Say something different, something that sets the whole world on it’s ear. I wanna do something better, with the time I’ve been given, and I wanna try to touch a few hearts in this life and leave nothing less than something that says I was here.

“Education is learning what you didn’t even know you didn’t know.”

Art is basically made by dissatisfied people who are willing to find some means to relieve the dissatisfaction.

I really wondered why people were always doing what they didn’t like doing. It seemed like life was a sort of narrowing tunnel. Right when you were born, the tunnel was huge. You could be anything. Then, like, the absolute second after you were born, the tunnel narrowed down to about half that size. You were a boy, and already it was certain you wouldn’t be a mother and it was likely you wouldn’t become a manicurist or a kindergarten teacher. Then you started to grow up and everything you did closed the tunnel in some more. You broke your arm climbing a tree and you ruled out being a baseball pitcher. You failed everyday math test you ever took and you canceled any hope of ever being a scientist. Like that. On and on through the years until you were stuck. You’d become a baker or a librarian or a bartender. Or an accountant. And there you were. I figured that on the day you died, the tunnel would be so narrow, you’d have squeezed yourself in with so many choices, that you just got squashed.

I have found it necessary to remain silent.

I’m so good at beginnings, but in the end I always seem to destroy everything, including myself.