I want to write. I have the urge. I feel the need to empty the thoughts and feelings and the contradicting feelings that tell me I’m vacant. I’m told I have a story to tell- but it’s all the same. This is all the same. These words I deliver into the universe haven’t been changing. I feel I’ve used up all my oxygen for the words that have circled within me. The place they rested in is empty now, and I have nothing else to give to the world.
I hear a silent ballet inside my heart, I feel the heavy vibrations run through my veins, I can see my spirit screaming in the back of my mind. All of me wants to be heard, but nobody is listening. I’m not even listening. I’ve been falling down and I can’t catch myself. I’m swimming in an endless sea of panic. The clock is ticking… where am I now?
My mind is a ball of white noise. What’s right? What’s wrong? Why are you like this?
Am I just a dog chasing a carrot that’s being dangled in front of me? What am I even chasing? What does that carrot represent?
I exhaust myself. I probably exhaust you, person reading this. I don’t know why I’m writing this. Is there even a point to this? There’s no structure. My mind is all over the place and suffocating from the static.
I’m trying to work this out. I am. I really am. It doesn’t feel like it’s helping though.
I wanted to write a book once. I don’t know what I’d write about. It would be a mess, and I realize nobody would ever read it because their head would feel just as jumbled up as mine does.
I’ve wanted to be a musician and write music for as long as I can remember. I haven’t pursued it though. My own fear immobilizes me, and besides… who would want to hear what I have to say anyway? The fear of failure is too much to bear. And yet, I feel so incomplete. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know how to chase a dream that feels out of reach. I’m so afraid. I can’t move. Why am I like this? Why can’t I find it in me to just get the courage to try? I still don’t know the answer.
I’m overwhelmed by my lack of clarity and perseverance.
I’m on fire. I’m burning alive. Nobody sees me. Nobody wants me or this. This is too much. This is all too much. I wish I could keep myself here for more than a moment. I’m tired. I can barely keep up. Nobody would put up with this for long. This isn’t something to be celebrated. This isn’t something to dream of. You look in my eyes and nobody is home. You don’t want this to be home. I’m alone in my inferno of invisibility.
I don’t feel a thing. The ice inside my heart is colder than ever.
I don’t feel a thing.
I feel everything.
The chaos will always remain. The flames cannot be extinguished for good. The ice is immune to melting. How can two opposite extremes exist within my soul? This is just my reality that nobody can see or fathom. I watch them intertwine; neither fazed by the other. My castle of frozen fire is combusting before my eyes and is taking me down with it… but it will rebuild itself and fall again, all on me.
This is how it feels to fail.
I’m failing myself.
I’ve failed you.