I’ve been trying for a while to get away but much to my dismay, it’s not as easy as I thought it’d be.
Sadly, I’m broke. On top of that, I have bills that I’m barely paying off and they don’t include rent or your basic housing/rental expenses. No. This is all debt. I want to get a second job but I doubt my ability to manage all that.I’m contemplating putting myself through hell for the sake of survival. Ironic, isn’t it? But such is life.
Most nights, I lay in bed and question my existence. I think about why I am the way I am. Why I do the things that I do. Why I just…am. I’ll never get an answer, though. That’s just the way things seem to be. It’s a question for the universe, but alas, the universe could care less about me and my existential needs. The universe never cared and never will.
I try to hide the never ending agony of never knowing where I’m going with constant research about how to be organized. See, I have this obsession with a vision of having it all together. So, I’m constantly looking at videos where people tell you how you can achieve this level of organization and self-control. It’s a deluded dream; to think that I could ever be that intact but, it’s something worth holding on to. A stepping stone.
The thing I hate the most about the late nights- or rather, being alone during the late nights, is my constant over thinking and agonizing introspection. I find anything and everything to think about.
On this particular night, my mind wanders to the things that people ever talk about. I have found that over the course of my youth, people regard brutal honesty a matter of extreme abhorrence. Certain topics are expelled from social conversations because they are taboo. We fear and we run from what’s real.
I can’t go up to someone and discuss death, they’ll look at me funny. I can’t just admit that life is a meaningless commodity because people would say that I’m being negative. They’d tell me to look on the bright side. But, what is the bright side?
The place that we go to escape the truth. The place where everyone tells you that you have to be happy and grateful because some people have it worse. A place where life is censored.
Why is this the only acceptable way to live?
I grow tired of putting up this facade. Pretending I’m okay with everything that’s going on. I grow tired of having to live in a world where my behavior is governed by the rules set forth by society. Where is the freedom? Buried in a grave, decomposing along with the bodies of those who rebelled against “the land of the free“.
I’m always fighting this endless battle within me; whether to live or survive. It feels as though once you realize that there’s ultimately no point to anything, live seems to be a chore but the thing about chores is that sometimes you can enjoy it and other times, it’s just a plain bore. Much like life, really.