Regressing
When I die what will I have given to anyone other than these narcissistic, pitiful, shallow self-descriptions? I want to live to live happily and to make others happy, but my heart breaks when I realize I have nowhere to go. Nobody to talk to. No love to hold. Is it really my fault? I try to be kind. I'm scared I don't know how. I try anyway, and it seems to fail. It fails every time. And I'm to blame? And I'm not allowed to feel shame and loneliness? Is it my sole responsibility to be... what? Human? Social? In socializing I find that I feel fine until I ruminate to discover mistakes. It makes me crazy, the distance between us. I don't know how to close this gap. I ask questions and listen carefully, kindly, providing fair commentary. Do I really say much at all? Do I say enough? Is it the way that I say it? Is it my tone? Is that why your eyes wander away and your mind replaces me with somebody more interesting? I can't keep up. I don't have the energy. I can barely speak. I don't have the ability. But does that make these emotions any less great? Is this natural selection at play? Is my fate to be surrendered to make more room for you and your agenda-driven orators? I try to seem smart but I'm not. My therapist said that I slow down for people. I don't have the energy. I see fractions of the world where you see the whole. And I am broken. You choose what you do with who and when and what to say to further establish your world. Your dark magic unfurled. Why am I so susceptible? I want to believe this is just my anxiety playing tricks. But I believe it so deeply. An anxiety attack. I can't breathe properly. I can't ever see clearly, I capture frames and do what I can not to be seen as lame. But it's never worked, I remember it now. Being with friends, I felt the same, how has so little of my identity changed? I can't trust anyone, they pity and laugh and look the other way when I look to the cracks in my soul. Soul barren, you can see it in my eyes, no fireworks, minor interactions petrify my mind. I hear you out of context and shape it my way, and create a story where I am the victim of shame. So sad, not brave. I saw everyone look away when I spoke. I saw everyone look annoyed by my heart on my sleeve and I write like this because I'm bereaved by my world. Should I write more confidently, with intention? Should I keep this private, unmentioned? Should I be embarrassed by my attempts to relay the horror and pain that is ripping my brain? Speak to me like a dog, and I'll argue you with you forever in my mind, but I won't understand why you pity me so. My confidence sold to the closest beauty, desperation will take any bid. I hid myself away for years and as I regain some sense of self, I recognize the struggles that caused me to hide. Me. Who I fail to be. Obsessing over my following, if I had more followers then I would be more valuable. How do I still think this way after the many philosophies I've touched? How am I still shallow when I've been acquainted with so much depth? This is all so complicated, yet it seems so simple. How can I not care about caring for other people and being cared for by them? My age betrays my immaturity. I wrote this out of necessity, catharsis, but I'll write this a million times to find I still have no answers. Hopelessness, symptom of depression. Is my humanity in question? I would never hurt someone, please don't think I would. My anxiety says I might, the truth says that I have, but I say that I see it all and I know better. I'm reasonable still. My mind is still vibrant, just speak to it with a kind authenticity. I don't want to engage. I'm giving up. You win again, social systems that I try and fail to participate in. Some say I'm smart, I'm sure some say I'm dumb. Some call me an introvert, some think I'm numb. I feel so much that I see in a gun. I lose my sense of self, and the selfish have won. Why do I think you're all on the same team? Why does it feel like you're all against me? I speak with a smile or I speak not at all, and I still try to hold it, but I can't smile forever. Even the timid seem to condescend me. Is it true or am I misinterpreting? I can't think but I have to. I can't sleep but I need to. I can't run but I want to. I can't die quite yet. I can't accept hugs. I mean that I want to. Emotion too much. I'm overwhelmed and I lose my feet.
Comments
Post a Comment