Freak on a leash

The situation is much worse than I’ve realized. I’m depressed from tip to toe but paid no attention because apparently I find feeling bad to be normal state of being.

Don’t question the reality of my imaginary world. I respect your right to a freedom of choice though I find the way you use it to be a sheer waste of potential. And, please, wipe that smile off your face; that, declaring better than a thousand signs “This world is mine and it exists only for me!” smile. Not that you would-I just wish you’d do so. The importance of everything is purely individual. My bread and water probably seem bullshit to you, but it is MY bullshit. I’m willing to protect my kingdom of visions with nails and teeth to the last drop of my hope. Have I already lost it-that last drop? I feel completely empty, dry as a desert; the rain of rebirth hasn’t even started to form-the sky is spotless, not a whisper disturbs the dead quiet. Silence is a punishment. The uncertainty about the nature of my sins makes it even more dreadful. The lack of clarity of the crimes committed makes me an accuser and accused at the same time. The sentence is “guilty of being a human”.

Silence is poisonous to one’s mind. One joins the living dead. Right in this very moment I feel like one of them-blood floats through my veins out of habit; I look but I don’t see; I listen but I don’t hear-there’s no feedback from the mind. You know you’re dead when you wish for nothing at all, when you feel like a ghost walking among people because their eyes go right through you as if you are an empty space.

Life is an illusion made real in your head. You have to fool yourself to keep that illusion alive. It’s like a tower of cards-remove one and everything goes down in ruins.

Who’s the real me-the one I used to be or the one I am now?

I don’t think I don’t fit anywhere; I just haven’t found my place…yet. But no one have said it would happen for sure. I might never find it.

Every scream that has ended up choked in my throat is the death of a new beginning.

Where is the life I’ve been promised?
Wasn’t I a good servant?
Didn’t I listen to your lies until I believed them?
Didn’t I suffer enough quietly feeding your ego with my fears?
Didn’t I sacrifice my dreams, my precious purity and soul?
Didn’t I?
I have nothing left to give.
I need…
No, I don’t need.
I want…
No, I don’t want.
I wish…
No, not that either.
Take what you need, want, wish.
Am I a servant looking for its master?
Am I a victim looking for its killer?
Will I resist?

I used to think my life would work somehow. It looked so damn easy from aside. The Promised Land the TV shows is a lie I’ve been taught to believe in.

What is the price of happiness? High.

What do those words mean?
Where did they come from?
I don’t know. I just saw them in my mind and wrote them down.

I feel more than I hear. I sense more than I see; beyond words; beyond explanations. Sometimes that feels like a curse.