notes on a lost life

Stranger things have happened in this world where humanity seems to be sinking slowly. I wake up in the morning, and similar to my peers, scroll through my twitter feed reading commentary on rape, genocide, racism, you name it. I experience my heart sinking, my mind slowly being corroded by the same institutions and circumstances that have conditioned me to be living this way. The music I listen to no longer gives me feelings. I used to undergo euphoria every once in a while, but even those moments have faded into nothingness. Time is dragging me along but it seems to have lost its way because now we are deep underwater and I keep losing my breath.

What I have done and become seems to exist in a vacuum, I appear to have shifted from empathy to apathy and I am afraid I cannot get out. I wake up in the morning and I feel an emptiness, the dramatic reminder of a meaningless existence, nihilism raging in my mind, pushing me off the edge without my consent.

I have never been too fond of mirrors, I grew up tearing myself down for the way I looked, but now when I look into my reflection I feel disdain because I fail to recognize myself. What are you supposed to do when you don’t feel like a person anymore? What are you supposed to do when your whole life, and every other person and thing around you begins to feel like a fabrication? My grip with reality is getting loose, my ties with it weakening day by day, or at least that’s what they tell me. Existence has become identical to and taken the physical manifestation of hypnic jerks; a breeding ground for instability. Self consciousness has been a foe to me, my mind is doctored by chemical imbalances, and I am struggling to convince myself that I am made for living.

I am no longer me, and you are no longer you, we are merely an amalgamation of what the world has given us but it all has become a deception. I was lost from the moment I was born because my circumstances were predestined. I fell onto a path that was never really a path, but a burning field of emotion and obsession that damaged my insides until there was nothing left standing. I wake up every morning wondering when I will stop feeling this way, thinking about the greats like David Foster Wallace, Virginia Woolf, Ernest Hemingway, Sylvia Plath and I realize that I am doomed either way, to this world or to myself. I hear my mind every moment that I am awake and it only reinforces the suicidal tendency that grew inside me when I was a schoolgirl. These depressive states make me so lonesome, I no longer remember how to form and build relationships and maybe that is why I will never be able to understand the secrets of living.

I do not go out much, I would rather spend all my time reading up words of other organisms than facing a life I never wanted to live. I lack the constitution to kill myself although I have tried plenty of times. I fail simply because I become too afraid. I am slowly sinking, but stuck at the same time. My mind has convinced me that everything is a fabrication so much so that I too have become one.