I am turning 23 in a few days and I feel miserable about it.
I am having a jumble of thoughts right now and I will try my best to write down everything I could. Because it seems like every time I start writing, my thoughts get whiffed by some non-existent gust of wind. Thoughts like these I want to write down but I’m afraid of doing so for fear of being judged or being misunderstood. Try as I may keep calm, there simply are days that I just want to wallow in self-pity and cry for an entire day until my eyes exhaust and close as I fall asleep. Mind you, it’s been a while since such thing has happened.
I am turning 23 in a few days and it just hit me in the face like a brick.
Look at me planning what I want to eat and how I want to spend my birthday when unbeknownst to me, I’d feel like a worthless piece of shit a few days prior D-Day.
Life is a bitch
Life is a bitch. It creeps on you like a maniac and rapes you of your happiness just because it can. It’s your dreams’ fault they’re so big they are asking to be shattered.
I keep seeking validation for things I shouldn’t. I perpetually feel the need to be praised for the things I should be naturally proud of. My passion for writing is going downhill, work-wise. I write to get my paycheck just because I am already here and this is the card I have to deal with.
I try to mask my sadness, impatience for progress, and lack of validity with comic TV series and funny clips. I try to sound smart, yet I am not. I try to be humble yet I boast of my progress when I make any. I am nowhere near where I want to be. But the sadder thing is, I am already nearly 23 yet I don’t know where I want to be.
There are footprints on the sand but you’re not sure where they came from or where they’re headed. Simply put, they just exist. I am leaving pieces of myself here and there but I have no legacy to be remembered. I have no name to be recalled, no accomplishment to be cherished and talked about over and over again.
Or do I?
I have so many feelings. I have so many thoughts. But all of them require too long a time to process, of which I have no privilege having. I barely have time to process matters at hand, much less my feelings that I keep deep within my heart.
I do not have a brave heart. I have too much pride to accept defeat yet too much cowardice to do something about it.
I am always cheating with time to have more time, from which my well-being suffers. We’re talking about sleep deprivation, a tinge of starvation, mood swings, and the constant need for attention, the last one actually being just my normal trait.
Life is not a race but it feels like it
I find myself having the zest to write when I am inspired. That’s quite normal. But at the point of recognition, I shrug it off and just want to be bigger, bolder all the more. What I mean to say it that I dust my accomplishment under the rug and try to show the world that it was nothing, when, in fact, it was something, a big something. But I do so in an effort to show the world that I am greater than that. That I can do so much more. It is nothing but false humbleness.
And dear, don’t ever succumb yourself to that.
It is suffocating, lethal, and it only promotes false advertising of one’s self.
That last sentence is so grammatically wrong, but you get my point.
Calm your tits
I have so much thoughts that words are not enough, but I guess my pity party stops at this. For now. I was thinking of doing a Life Lately post but right now I’m too exhausted for that. My life has so much drama that I created on my own, it will take me forever to type everything down, if I even want to share every tidbit of my life here.
I am dumping my emotions here tonight and hopefully I sleep with a more peaceful heart and mind. However, I’m not sure how restful that would be, seeing that I am already mentally exhausted, but my feelings compel me to keep writing.
I write as I think and mind you, all these words are far different from my thoughts earlier. I guess, somehow, words have a mind of their own and they end up looking different on your screen as when you formulate them in your head. But anyway, none of us really has the privilege to write down exactly what we think. The kind of life only exists in fairy tales.
Enough ranting and mumbling for now. I hope whatever you have read, you somehow resonate. It would mean the world to me knowing I am not alone in this toxic battle. We will win. Someday. Eventually. Just not today.
Be your own rockstar,