I’ve been shut down, ignored and offended around 50 times this week. It’s currently 1:20 in the morning and the only person I wish to talk to turns out to be busy. Hoping to be able to talk to other friends, I sent messages again and again and again, but as I stare at the ceiling waiting for a response I found the silence draining me. I can’t believe it’s only been less than a year that I’ve come of age, I knew being an adult wasn’t about automatically having it all figured out but I didn’t expect it to be more confusing and messy. I felt every string of my existence being questioned most days. I find challenges way more overwhelming and honestly I am mostly distraught with grief. I usually don’t crave for appreciation, but they’ve been such a scarcity lately that my heart immediately melts at the smallest affection.
1:30. I question my existence as my thoughts wander for as far as it could in the past. The horror escaped my eyes through the flowing mist of sorrow. I have never been more terrified of the future, never been more concerned to commit an error in a decision. Perhaps the distrust I’ve come to embrace to protect myself from people have been so effective it has infected me as well. I feel unwell and I’m starting to believe the saying that an ill soul corrupts a healthy body, for I can feel my body physically hurt.
1:40. I should go to sleep, yes I really should. But knowing that the troubles of tomorrow should be faced sooner if I do, the fear drives me reluctant to enter into slumber. But perhaps hours of nightmare will be much better? Much as a sweet dream trumps reality. These are ramblings of a troubled being, and I thought I’m through with this. I’ve conquered far worse yet now I crumble. Have those conquers been nothing but good fortune’s coincidences? That I’ve really done none of anything I’ve been credited with? Then what have I become?
1:50. That’s right, an occasion is to come soon — A day of privilege a person only has once a year where he/she can be remembered for being alive. Soon I can have that privilege, and I want nothing more than to wish to reverse the meaning of that day’s reason to celebrate. For even if a broken clock gets it right twice a day, it’s still useless the rest of the day and could and should be replaced with the one that works.