Keyboard diarrhea

I wish I could think about the future without wanting to cry and sometimes, tear my hair out. That this crippling fear can still go away, and that it would be replaced with excitement and most of all, certainty.

But surprise, surprise, (I say this with all the sarcasm I can muster, and trust me, I have a lot.) it’s not that easy. Every year it feels like it just gets harder. I grow old, and I kinda grow up, but the problems grow, too. Like those hydras, mythical creatures with seven heads and could kill you any minute if you take your eyes off of them. Cut a head, two will grow back. I just want to go back to days that my only problems were when I’ll eat next or how I’ll avoid taking a bath again; not money or dying relationships. Cry over boo-boos or when you don’t like dinner; not over not knowing who you really are or something that rubs salt in the wounds that your heart are trying to desperately heal.

I wish I know what to do. In general. How to move in life. How to keep everything afloat. How to deal with relationships. How not to fuck everything up. How to get back up if you fuck everything up. What I’m saying is, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing in my life. I don’t even know why I exist. At all.

It equally comforts and saddens me that come the year 3000, every struggle, fears, and problems I had–all of us had–simply wouldn’t matter anymore. That once you cease to exist, those will slowly cease to exist as well. Out of sight, out of mind. Ha. Why would it even matter, when we’ll all die anyway? It’s sad, but liberating at the same time. Mostly sad, though.

I feel like I could be pulled into different directions right now. No matter how different those choices are, it will take me somewhere I really don’t know what will bring. Stay or go. Leave the country, start a new life. Create a (almost) blank slate. As if that slate wouldn’t be already tainted anyway. God, I really like the new country, new life option, though. Could I pick that?

Ugh, when did I become such a fucking mess? How can I clean this up?

‘Kay, this is enough. Talk soon, I guess. Or maybe later.


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