I keep writing these beginnings. I don't have an end. And I am so tired of just walking on these paths and not knowing where the road leads me to cause I feel like I am purposeless.
I keep playing the video tapes of my childhood, scrolling photos and reminiscing about the time when carefree was a reality and not a memory.
I am so tired of reaching out to people. My mere existence is nothing but an ironical mess.
I am like a constant helper who feels so goddamn helpless. Every advice I give to others feels like a lie to me but then again, I soothe myself saying I'm helping. I'm doing good deeds. "I'll be sent to heaven for doing good deeds," I tell myself. But every night I question myself, "You're gonna go to heaven after you die, but what about the hell you are living in while being alive?" A wave of helplessness mixes with the sweat on my forehead and soon with my veins.
I am like a saviour who needs to be saved. I kept reaching my hand out for others while not realising that the more I pulled them out, I kept falling in this deep chasm which never seems to end. It's dark. I can say that. The problem was not pulling people out, no. The problem was no one trying to pull me out. I am falling, and I keep falling. I count to ten whenever I feel the weight on my heart is too heavy.
It only calms my breath, not the storm inside my mind.
I am sick of people saying you'll be okay.
Some days, I feel that I was sent here on this earth to help people. I made everyone's problems mine, everyone's insecurities mine, everyone's grief mine. Forget this, everyone's sins? I feel like I made them my sins. And now, I'm lost.
I'm trying to follow my own advices, and it turns out I've been telling people things which I never truly felt. Happiness. And I'm sick and tried and exhausted of being there for people.
Above all, I'm sick of loving people. "I care more to be loved," Jo March had said. And now it seems like a perfect line to place the mess in my mind.