I remember looking outside my window every summer day and feeling nothing but emptiness. My room, dark, yet outside the sun was always bright in the clear sky. Not that I drew the curtains. It felt like I was always drowning in something. The weight of my thoughts, expectations, dreams, friends and family was taking me deeper into that hole, suffocating me at the thought that I need to be somebody. Yet every time I let go. They come back and chain me once more to drag me to the bottom. Which is why I grew up thinking love will save me. Will give me wings to fly, to rise above it all, to help me become something more to help me be… More than I am today. Like a breath of fresh air when you feel like a stone lies heavy on your chest…. Love was supposed to save me from it all. To push me forwards into the stratosphere so I can be out of breath but this time for a good reason… Because I’m in love. Because I am for the first time happy. Myself. Because I became myself for the first time… And was happy because of that.
Yet this darkness is soothing no more. The nights I spent awake thinking of who I want to be or become. The home I had found in that darkness, feels like it wants to spit me out into the light, yet I don’t want to. Yet. I don’t like who I am. Yet. Because I feel like those around me are simply bad. People with nothing but selfish desire, unwilling to put away their own egos to satisfy someone that asks for nothing but be left to be happy. And that’s too much to ask of them. And now… I don’t know what I want anymore. Writing, living, loving, hating, thinking, responsibilities, are all now meaningless to me as they don’t want to see me for me. They just want to see what they want, a whatever fucked up worse version of myself that is on par with their shitty behavior and thought pattern. And I always imagined myself that being engaged, in love to be married would be some of my happiest of times. Yet they feel as empty and as meaningless as everything until now. Just as empty as the Christmas eves, new year day, birthday and whatever else we choose to celebrate.
I think some might call this depression. Yet I can’t help to argue against that point of view as I bask in this darkness falling. As I believe it to be a stranger induced coma. Where outside forces forced themselves on you to be what they want. For you to stick to whatever twisted version of normalcy they think is alright. A toxic environment they relish in. A place where your dreams, aspirations, passion and love dies at the hands of those without mercy. Those that loathe excellency and anything that has some mental fortitude to fight the fight they were too afraid to tackle. As they look upon others as a silent majority that nod yet do nothing. They say that the world isn’t against you, they’re just for themselves. Yet I once more beg to disagree. If the world, no matter how small yours is, is against your happiness, then it is the world against you. And just as with freedom, anything selfish that impedes the happiness of someone is beyond selfishness, it’s something worse. Something that we shouldn’t tolerate or suffer by. As is as toxic as the rest of the behaviors we start to disagree with. Yet here I am… In darkness basking once more unwilling to come out and face the world. At least here, I have some silence and peace for once…
Hope you liked this chapter of I Write Sins… Not Tragedies the short story. This chapter is quite a powerful and of course, personal one. As I drain my 2020 frustration all into this chapter of this little story about dreams. If you want to support and help keep these short stories free, you can always donate at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO