Recently I have been feeling like a ghost. Like I have become an empty shell whose vessel runs on autopilot. I’m not even sure I have the ability to write as well as I once did, or if I even ever did write well to begin with. Death has been on my mind a lot recently to be candid. I am not at all saying I wish to end my life, because thanks to my religion I am aware that this hell does not end with a final breath. It’s also just my luck, that I was blessed with a vivid imagination, as I’ve killed myself hundreds of times in my mind. I do not wish pain on myself. I wish to end who I am currently, so that I can be someone who is not remotely related to who I am now. I’m not sure if there was ever a point in my twenty three years of life, when I truly loved who I was.
One of my best qualities is that I have a really strong memory, and I pretty much remember everything. When I was younger, I was having a conversation with my sister about style, right before I would begin my high school experience. My sister is one of the most stylish people I know and even she was stumped on trying to describe me. I was aware that I wasn’t entirely sure of who I was at the time, but I was like fourteen; nobody does at that age.
The thought occurred to me, that if the people around me couldn’t grasp a sense of who I was when they were literally able to see me from a different perspective, that I might never be able to truly see myself. I shrugged it off thinking, eventually I’d have to figure it out. Sooner or later. Well later has come and I still don’t know who I am, so this is my proclamation to myself to use my time to figuring it out.
The reason I don’t feel like I have ever truly been deemed a good writer is because of how much I struggle with identity, and being true to myself. I know I can write the hell out of an essay, I mean at some point I even started charging bitches for them. I love writing, I truly do love the art, but the question I have is.. does it love me?
I hear writers say how the words found them, and they were able to write deep and meaningful pieces, some of which have put me to tears. I know at this point in my life I am incapable of doing that. I have written creatively in the past and have received positive feedback, but a part of me feels like it was just regurgitated themes and topics that I have already seen before. I struggle with admitting my feelings even to myself. I couldn’t even write this in one sitting despite it not being professionally written and just a tangent of my thoughts. The things that have crossed my mind about myself recently, and the things I’m writing here are ideas I have had for probably 10 years–or more if I’m going to commit to this ‘being honest with myself’ thing.
I have had multiple breakdowns within that time, and not once did it occur to me that I was the problem. Addressing myself, and approaching my current mental state as a being outside of myself, sort of like a ghost hovering over my body has allowed me to notice all my shortcomings.
I once lived my life like I was some supreme individual, who was essentially on a higher level than I actually was. So to feel so low in my life truly haunts me. Even writing this shit is so depressing I haven’t stopped crying, I’m even worried my tears might ruin my laptop. Honestly, if you could see the state of this thing you’d probably tell me the tears are the least of my worries. I’m writing this on a – probably 2013 model Mac book pro that I stole from my previous job. Yeah, damn right I did and what about it? It has that like weird blue static hue thing that you get when you put a magnet to your TV screen… hopefully someone gets what I mean. Point is, even my laptop has hit rock bottom, literally. That’s how the screen got like that. Anyway, I have no idea what I’m writing this for, which is why I don’t necessarily care that it’s been colloquially written. However I know that my depression will not subside anytime soon, so for now I will use this as a journal.
Welcome to the endless abyss that is my mind. (:
Writes note:
This is something I wrote back in 2022 during the height of my depression, I’m not completely in the same place mentally, I still have issues and probably always will. However, I refuse to make that the focal point of my blog. I’m working towards understanding myself, my thoughts and my feelings, and hopefully can grow with myself while sharpening my writing skills.
Looking back I don’t even totally hate the piece i wrote, the old me was tripping!
Again, welcome it’s going to be a dark and unstable ride.. you’ve been warned.
Dark and Deadly 