Dear reader

Sometimes you know, there is this part of me which just wants to be happy and have fun, but then I realize those moments of fun for me are nothing but me analyzing the world, different aspects of it, finding solace in apprehensions that others might not entirely get and all in all becoming a liability to myself because I am too harsh to live a life of happiness within myself. I am just a nobody to me, and I will always be a nobody to me no matter how I live or what I choose to do because this is the reality I have made for myself and I am incredibly insisting on being a being in my vicious cycle of finding a momentum in life that I no longer have the will or the choice to. You see, I grew up romanticizing my sadness, I grew up thriving in it, to me, happiness is like a horizon, its always near but never attainable. The farther I go and the more I live, I realize that this count of mine which I inherently enjoy just by being a person who valued dignity and values and intelligence over happiness, I don’t know what it would take for me to realize very simply that coffee is a taste, not a lifestyle. I wish I could tell myself that I will choose coffee every day, more so because the other option is whether or not to die. You see, life for me is as fragile as this. A choice between coffee and death narrows down my entire conscience, my existence, because I see my life as a moment I pass and pass and pass until I get tired and leave it be. In coffee at least, there is effort. But to me, life is just there. I think deeply, perhaps even comically sometimes, for things do mean something greater to me than they seem to someone else. I wonder how someone can think only surficial about something and genuinely not care or not have opinions strong enough for advocating. To me, life needs to be painful, I need to die every day in order to feel worthwhile, maybe that’s why being sick comes to me so naturally. I am tired of sickness because I no longer feel pain. Pain makes me conscious; it makes me alive. But this constant numbness that I succumb to, this vile vanity of my soul which creeps through me saying that pain wouldn’t be mine, only fragility, I am running constantly towards something which doesn’t want me. I know what you must be thinking. Why do I even want pain? Dear reader, I wish you never feel the need for pain as I do because let me tell you, I can bear headaches and I can bear being ripped off of my skin, but silence in my body as I listen to the blood flow through my veins in constant rigidity asking me to scream because someone is taking away my soul, eating it away, and I can feel nothing, it haunts me. Take my life away, painfully. Please. That’s all I ask. 

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