"Then it hits you so much harder than you ever thought it would."

It seems that one day you wake up and that's it. It's all over, it's all wrong, it's all gone. And you can still feel the echo of everything you wanted your life to be, bouncing off your bones, slipping deeper into the part of you that never was.

"And it hurts that I can't be
what everyone wants 
or what anyone needs 
and it hurts that I can't be 
what I want
or what I need
because I'm not enough 
and I won't be enough 
and I'll never be close to enough 
and I'm just so damn tired."

I'm desperate. Desperate just to feel something; anything. Desperate to be someone who I'm not. Desperate to try something I've never tried. Desperate to be. Desperate.

And then just like that, everything changes. Everything is over. You look far inside yourself and you find out that the echo you heard before, remember that one? The one shaking the very core of who you're supposed to be? It's not really there. It's not really there. It's just the sound of the desperation you've become. The sound of absolute nothing making you believe that you might be real. But you're wrong. You're not here. I'm not here.

"I am the designer of my own catastrophe"

The biggest problem is this. I made me this way. I made me empty. And with every piece of my heart I sold, I cut away a slice of myself until there was nothing left. Then the blood runs thin, and I'm nothing more than a burnt out star, trying not to fall further than I already am.

"Never have a dealt with anything more difficult than my own soul."

But it's too late for me. It's far too late for me. This is who I am. Nothing. This is what I will become. Nothing. This is what I was always destined to be. Nothing.



Please don't ever be like me