I didn’t realize how deep a mother wound can go – every day it is becoming even more suffocating. It’s like you need some gas to stay alive and instead of oxygen, someone has veen making you inhale something poisonous and you breath it in and it keeps you alive.
Yes, I guess in the recent past, this fear has terribly set in, almost hauntingly that I will eventually end up being alive; that life will not stop abruptly even though I have now mastered the art of living day to day. No amount of hurt, anxiety, some low point is enough to kill me. It’s like it enjoys putting me in further misery and left me hanging out to dry right before the very breath that would have been my last.
Everything, everywhere, everyone is hurting. I am incomprehensible, ferral, in unbearable amount of pain, a burder to myself, not belonging anywhere in any part of the world I believe, yet I have to put up a constant performance to go on and whenever I fail, I am shown how insignificant I am. Like literally, at work, at home, with friends,- I literally heard them direct these words to me “why do you take things so personally? Why do you make yourself so significant? What do you think will change if you die?”
And yes, they are brutally right but never have I ever thought, or considered it normal for people to actually say stuffs like this to another, who they already know is struggling.
Damn it, people struggle to stay alive. Here I am struggling to die!!
And it kills my bestie’s prestige that I cite poems, quotes, write in cynical way mostly. And that other friends wonders how I am her bestie and that I wouldn’t have had place in the world had I not “captured” her during our primary school days. Woaaah! Somehow I lost the zeal to write in public – I didn’t mean to cause her any disruption.
This pain is unfathomable.