It is 2020, nothing changed, ghosts from the past keep following me, not giving me the space to breathe, letting this awful weight just slowly crushing me on the ground. Happiness is just a far memory. Plans, ideas and all of what I wanted to become to this day don't matter anymore. Writing about the same topics, same problems, same soldiers going out from the trench just to die from the world's machinegun fire. Every day I wake up thinking that it can't get worse, that the fall is already too deep to be darker. It is easy to feel lost like no one can or ever could understand you. Contemplating all the small things in your day seems normality, as you do just before you start for a long trip. But it is different, cause I know that every time I keep my focus on something or someone it could be the last. Cause that's where my mind pushes me. I'm holding back, I'm pretending is all fine, or at least find enough to go on and have projects. It's nice thinking about the future. I feel good even thinking about the problems and the worries that could fill my days; that would mean that I survived. I don't know if I should talk about depression, cause depression is where hope is gone, were feeling just disappeared to leave space and time to nothingness. I do still feel, and until the day my heart beats and my lungs breath, I will be alive. But it is getting grey. Everything. Trees are losing color, food just doesn't have the same taste, water is as dense as mud. Eyes burn, legs shake for no reason and from nowhere cry breakouts are part of my daily routine. Is this life? Is this growing up? Is this just my faith slowly dissolving? I wish I had answers, actually at this point, I would even love to have real questions, things that really matter to me. Nothing matters anymore. I love my friends, but they will go on without me. Family won't understand, but at the end of the day, all the fault will be on me. As it should be. Going to sleep later, hoping to never wake up. That's what my dreams are made of. And I hate myself even more for this. To disappoint everyone, once again. In 25 years I tried to commit suicide 3 times, always for love reasons. At least this time it isn't just for this. It is because I failed. I failed to live in a society that would like me to be tougher, hard-skinned and just a person that I will never be. I tried to seek out help, but the fact is that I'm the only person that could help myself right now. I believed in the wrong people, I believed in the wrong dreams, I've chosen paths that were never meant to be mine. I see happy people around me, and I can't help myself being even sadder cause I have more and I can't be as happy and contempt as they are. Why am I like this? Why am I writing this online? Do I want to let people know? Then why not just share it with my friends? Maybe I don't want anyone to read this, but then why publishing it here? It's true, there isn't a single person probably reading all of this except me (luckily I would add), but you never know in life.
I wish I had answers, I wish I was stronger. Maybe one day I'll change. But I have to give myself the time to do that.
