is it me fully understanding the meaning and getting scared,
or is it knowing the people around me will understand that scares me?
cause i know that I'd rather burry myself alive than let them in the chaos i carry around
maybe it's just a copping mechanism gone wrong and/or too far
i'm to scared to write anything in greek
the sole idea gives me anxiety and sends shivers down my spine
is this just a connection to the life i've dreamt for myself
that i'm hopelessly clinging onto?
or am i just a pretentious girl with dreams bigger than her actual abilities?
what am i doing? why am i typing? is there a purpose?
there's no creativity flowing in me.
somes sparkles may appear ever so often but before i can start creating
they're gone away and i'm once again surrounded by painful emptiness
all of this pain, all of this sadness, all of this overwhelming feeling of fear and loneliness
will just be a waste of time and energy
if i never come around making something out of it.
most of the artworks i consume and admire daily
are bi-products of broken hearts, gloomy days and troubled minds.
and here i am sat on this corner trying to persuade words to be in my favor
and failing, failing miserably.
what unnerves me is that i don't really know how much time i have left.
no one ever really knows that.
and as a pessimist i tend to think is not as much as i hope it to be.
even with that in mind, i'm still there
in a small dark space that i practically locked myself in
being nothing but a bystander while others live and love.
i am rotting away hidden here,
i'm weak and sad and scared.
i can see bright spots in my surroundings.
some days is really hard to do so, but if i try hard enough
i kind of recognize them somewhere in the distance.
i bet it feels nice being under those lights,
perfectly illuminated, no ugly shadows, or scary darkness, or emptiness.
i wanna go there someday.
i've spent so much time imagining what it would be like
in fact i've spent too much time imagining
that i never actually got the chance to work on a plan as to how i will go there.
but as much as i admire those lights,
when i spy on them, another feeling, more urgent awakes too.
i'm so utterly terrified by them.
well, i might think that i could maybe be happy under them
but the joy only lasts for some seconds, even when i daydream about it.
soon enough, all of my scars, all my broken limbs, all the bruises
every little mark that my time in the darkness ever left on me
will be there for everyone, myself included, to see.
all the lovely people that inhabit this shiny space will freak out
they will run away of me, a human wreck, a scarred monster
and i will once again be left eternally alone.
the worst part is that there won't be comforting darkness
there won't be a place to hide.
i will be exposed in front of my very eyes, the size of the damage
now so obvious, an undeniable truth.
all my brokeness, all the pain i've bottled up,
will still be with me, will still be a part of me
even if i surround myself with light.
cause what i ultimately don't understand,
either that or i'm in a permanent state of denial,
is that this darkness, this emptiness, this fear and this pain
are rooted in my very soul, in my very mind.
that's why no shiny place, no fancy appartment, no beautiful landscape
will ever be enough for me to be happy.
everything is filtered through a troubled conscience
that is traumatised and hurt and bleeding and bruised.
i have to take my time to heal.
it's so much harder to do so when you've spent so much energy obsessing over your scars.
digging your fingers in your flesh just to feel something
to prove yourself you're alive and still able to connect with life
the only way you ever really learnt.
i have to stop sabotaging my own efforts
finally grow up and focus on getting better.
cause it may be hard but it's the only thing i can do.
i have so many things to experience.
this cannot be the end. i won't let it be.
there has to be more in this world than gloominess and melancholy and pain.
i've seen sparkles of hapiness in the past,
i know i have even though i can't truly connect myself with them.
i have spent so much time wishing and hoping that there's more to this world
my best chance cannot just be this familiar numbness.
i've witnessed positive fellings on other people's lives, a bunch of thrills.
i've read about them, i'm listening to songs that capture how they should feel like
and i have to believe that if i wait long enough
if i somehow find the courage to try hard enough
those feeling will be mine.
it seems irrational at times, naive and childish.
but this hope that my sarcastic and realistic side suppresses with such ease
is the most important thing i own now.
and i am holding onto it with the little i have left.
besides, if it all goes to waste,
i think i can handle that.
surviving through failures is in fact
a reoccuring pattern in my life.
what a fucked up way of being.