Breathing

 From 3rd November 2022

A simple way to know if I’m OK or not is to see if I’m breathing. If I’m breathing then no, I’m not OK.

Sure, I might say ‘I’m OK’ or ‘yeah alright’ if you ask me. Heck, you might even see me smile or laugh. I can do that so easily you see. It’s the mask I’ve learnt to wear and its now a part of my anatomy. I could no more take it off than I could pull off my face.

I often feel like doing that though – pulling off my face, lobbing it against the wall, for it slide down to the floor on leaving a bloody streak. I think my soul, plucked from void, was mistakenly thrust into this human flesh, and it just screams to get out.

I’ve tried just about every reasonable thing, including meds, therapy, religion, art, distraction. Nothing can soothe.

I’m weeks away from completing another year in this world, and for what? It’s patently clear to me that I shouldn’t even be here. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing for me in this life. Nothing to achieve, no meaning, no purpose, no sense of being. The longer I persist, the more it all seems so fucking absurd. Futile.

These eyes just look out on a world, an existence that never ceases to seem so alien or alienating. I tried to be a human, an adult, but none of the things worked for me.

I’m now at a place where I’ve mostly let go of all ideas of future and of what I could look forward to. The little handles that people hold onto. Mine were always just lies. Hope is the biggest lie of all.

I don’t think it matters at all whether I’m here or not. For now, I have to carry on. I guess there is that one small iota that feels duty bound to look after my folks. But that’s all. There’s nothing beyond that.

I do not like this world. I and it are not compatible. And so I wish to leave no trace when I’m gone. Just burn this carcass, bin the ashes, let this nonsense be forgotten.