Life is a struggle no one could ever dispute that, but what if you already failed? What is life then? A constant disappointment broken into insignificant sections. Living them over and over, day after day, making it harder than it has to be. A constant drain on ever lasting thoughts. Making choices that I know will end badly. It’s not that I don’t care, but really I don’t.
I don’t see a greater outcome. I don’t see a future that I change. All I see is struggle. A struggle to be this or that, to get this or that, to be the best at anything. Even when I try to push it away all I can think is, “Is this really what I want?”
Do I want fame? Do I want people to care that i have something to say? Do I even have anything really to say? Breaking down these thoughts on paper isn’t helping either. A cross between a suicide letter and a list of complaints. Maybe all or none of this matters? All i know is that I am dying either by self infliction or by those around me. Living life has become more than a struggle but a self-imposed suffering. Broken bones and torn joints. Maybe this is all I will ever be. An after thought to a broken life.
L…I know you may already be tired of me saying this but…I feel so connected to you, your thoughts… your gorgeous, sexy, tenebrous mind. All you articulated here… filled me with genuine fear. Do you have the power to read mind? Do you not really exist and are just a manifestation of my fucked up head a la Beautiful Mind stylee?
It’s kind of terrifying me. Your brilliance, to me is… blinding.
Wish we could hug right now
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