You have my permission not to love me;
You’re in my veins and I cannot get you out
I’ve things to do today:
I must crush memory down,
I must turn my heart to stone,
I must try living, again.
I want to care, but I don’t. I wake up in the morning and don’t know why I’m here. I feel like I’m not real.
In truth, you like the pain. You like it because you believe you deserve it.
I cannot handle this any longer. The pressure from everyone to succeed, the constant pressures from within. This is too much for me. The competitiveness frightens me and makes me feel even more inadequate than before. I feel like a number, a statistic to them. I simply do not matter and i never will whilst i am in the constraints of education, or even in life. I am failing to see the point in living, in going through the motions and never truly achieving anything, in completing someone only to find it leads to endless tasks that will eventually lead to nowhere. I do not see the point in living this mundane life, of doing what is expected of me my whole life, only to die in the end. It seems that the expectations of others are getting increasingly higher as i fall further and further, trapped in the vines of depression with a loneliness that prevents me from doing whatever is expected of me. My whole life has been set up for me, manipulated, it is just a fucking game, where i follow the orders and rules, constantly trying to please others and be finally be accepted as ‘normal’. But it is all so fucking pointless, we live to die and then we are forgotten and the world moves on, people hope that they have left a mark, that they will be remembered. But in truth, the people who loved them will die too and the marks they had left will vanish. Eventually we are all forgotten, our existences are wiped off the map and it is as if we were never there to begin with. Memories fade, tracks are covered, things are replaced, people move on, everything comes to an end. It’ll be like we never existed, although we never did anyway. We are breathing, thinking, but we are never really living. We just travel down the path set out for us, where every turn or twist is meant to be there and in the end the road leads to death, a death that was planned from conception. We are all destined to die and die we will. And die i will.