I think my life had an expiry date. It was long ago. I’ve gone off, become sour; nothing is as it’s supposed to be. I’m the forgotten milk in the fridge, the leftovers left to mould in the oven, the forgotten tin in the back of the cupboard. I’m existing because I haven’t died yet.
I cannot see a future. Sometimes I imagine it, make it up in my head but it feels like a story. It has an edge to it, like it’s CGI in a fairytale film.
People would miss me if I die. If I was able to disappear, it would ruin people’s lives. This adds a whole new dimension that I am unwilling to deal with. This is what prevents me from taking action. But I’ve reached a breaking point; I wasn’t supposed to live this long. Some people are not cut out for life. I have no survival instinct. I want to give up.
When I fail, I feel it deeply. When I succeed, I don’t feel it at all – this happens so rarely, it’s not much of an issue.
How many times can I feel that my world is ending before it actually does?
3 comments
Every time it ends, something new begins (there is no room for creation without destruction or vice versa)
You are okay.
It’s all about trying to ride the waves, and better yourself after each “crash”
I don’t think from the fact that someone is not cut out for life it follows logically that they don’t deserve to live. Conversely, many who deserve to die like worms have incredible survival skills.
I’d rather you stick it out to the them , if only as Diogenes dog, than check out before its actually time for the world to end.
I feel so much of the same things. I was even convinced I was dead earlier this year. It made more sense. This doesn’t feel right anymore. I don’t even want a purpose in life. All I can see are the futures I might’ve had. But so little of myself is left. And I lose more all the time. This Earth burns everything I’ve given. It might as well be hell. What does one do with her life in her 30s when she will never have children, a career or people she could possibly be open with again.