I have been alive for 9,230 consecutive days. At least what one can call the term, considering I’m breathing, having a heartbeat and I’m capable of forming my own thoughts. An inner life;an outer life;never felt alive-kind of deal. 5,215 days ago, I had made utter peace with mortality. In fact, I couldn’t wait to face it with all that I’ve had.
3,435 days ago, I had found understanding for that kind of thinking and I could move within a hidden space the way, I was supposed to for all my life. Unfortunately for me, everyone grew up. Except… Me. Things, a therapist can’t hear: “I have no desire to move on”, is what I’m left with. Let’s be real, times will never feel that great again, all we do is work to not be able to worry so much. 225 days ago was the last contact I’ve had to a person, from that time around.
I’m the only one, who seems to remember the past, or everyone just chooses not to say anything. How many more days until my exit strategy is the alarm equipped back door of a mall and not eternal death? I don’t remember what year I graduated most of the time, but I remember a “pre-this miserableness”-timeline all throughout. It’s difficult for me to write my own curriculum vitae, not mentioning all the pain that I felt in these times, where it’s left blank.