Is giving myself a name enough?
Does it give me a justification of existence?
Is there any proof I exist?
Do I want to have something that marks my existence in this universe?
I don’t know
I need someone’s gaze as I can’t see through the veil my tears
Sometimes my brain shows me sequences that are not concerning me in the slightest.
Dreams of a person who I am not and who I am not aspire to be.
Illusions of relationships and achievements that are not what I wish for and who are meant for a person with my face but not my life, not my personality.
Why is it showing me those pictures?
They’ re funny to watch, just like a movie, but in times where my brain feels like exploding from my own impressions and feelings, the dreams of another are a burden.
Does “she” see my dreams and hopes?
Does “she” cry over me?
Am I developing an Agoraphobia?
I really don’t need some new shenanigans from my brain, especially of this kind.
I have rent and tuition to pay! And my university is the only thing keeping me alive and more or less sane….if I were about to lose it…
I don’t even want to think about it…I am already shaking
I need to get in therapy again…even though my unpleasant last attempts and the long waiting list to get an appointment make me anxious
In the last days I am wondering why I am such an unambitious person…
I was never very ambitious from the very beginning of my life, was always kind of not here nor there…always just by myself, always on the outside and always within my head. And, although I needed 25 years for it, I am fine with my ways in the meantime.
But ambition, determination and persistence were never character traits I could call mine.
Only two times in my whole life I developed something similar to an ambitious drive: when I started my first course of studies after finishing school and when I was anorexic.
I think we don’t need to talk about the quality of ambition of the latter (nonetheless, I’d still rather be anorexic again instead of this disgusting Binge Eating monster owning my life), but I went with such hopes into my first studies as I finally left behind the hell that was school and I got my way regarding my Major against my mother
….and then it all fell apart
..and yes, it broke me.
And although I am very satisfied with my current studies, I love it immensely, and my life can be considered stable at the moment (well, except for the mental issues but duh), the strength for ambitious outbursts is somewhat gone. I am afraid for good.
So I am that person who is never satisfied with where she is, but who will probably never come very far because she is too weak and to passive to fully immerse herself in something.
The one who does what she loves, but does it half-heartedly anyway.
And I realise it, this is the irony to it…
I wish I wouldn’t see it in myself at least and simply wallow my sorry ass in ignorance.
Someone: How’s your term paper going?
Me: *chugs gin mixed with vodka*
（ (≪●≫) ）Д（ (≪●≫) ）
The play was aborted
The actors died
The audience suffocated
The stage is falling apart…becoming ruins, becoming dust
The play failed
The reality was stronger, eye hurting sharper
I am alone with her again
Face to face
No games, no sugarcoatings
With the bare facts again
Trying to crawl forward
Centimetre after centimetre
I am so unbelievably exhausted
And it hasn’t even started properly yet