No more.

I think this blog isn’t the only thing dying. As my mind deteriorates my sanity falls further and I just want to let go. Yet doing so is in fact fatal. I can’t live without purpose. I know it is often  questioned as to why one needs purpose to live. Perhaps not everyone does. But to feel as though you could be normal, you could be sane. That doesn’t happen just anywhere. And I don’t want to let go of where it will happen. 

 

This time last year. I wrote, or rather, drafted all of my suicide notes. but now, it’s worse, because I don’t feel like there’s anything left to say to anyone. Surely I couldn’t be insane if I didn’t acknowledge it, know it. Yet I feel it so innately it’s taken over my life until I’ve become a weak, wobbling, feeble and sickly mess. I drink too much, smoke too much, and hate myself for it.

So hence, this is a goodbye of many sorts. An end to writing, to life, and to all of life’s problems. I will not move on. I will not suffer anymore. 

The Unknown.

Currently, I’m during the transition of the next phase in my life. And I couldn’t be more terrified. It’s scary to think of what will happen. But yet again, I need my tabula rasa. A fresh start on a blank slate for me to fill with wonders.

Someone I cared about deeply once said to me “you need to suffer”. I could agree more. We experience life. As I choose to live fast and die young, I want to explore every aspect of life, and while I have goals and dreams and things I want to do and places I want to accomplish, I’m scared. I’m a coward, I fear life, unlike most who fear death. Someday, I want to throw in the towel. I want to quit life on my own terms. “When I die will you close my casket? Make it glass so I can see who cared.” 

To fall, I think, would be a beautiful feeling. To fall and hit the ground so hard all of your misery is released. This dreadful life I’ve lived has been bearable over the past two years has been because of my students. They inspire me to keep moving with their wishes of good luck as I leave this city to my fresh start. If I had my way, I would stay with them forever. They are my home. I can’t bear the thought of leaving them for a day, I absolutely avoid the thought. I have one week left in this country, and only four days with them. The last time I was forced to leave them and work only part time amongst them, I dealt with it in the worst possible way. So now, I become anxious with the  turn of events that approaches. An eighteen hour flight and a twelve hour difference wants me to mourn my progression. 

Someday, I will return to this home of mine, to stay. At least, I dream of it, hope for it with the heart I may have. It brings such tears to my eyes, but I can go on with this little hope. “Someday, somehow, I’ll make it home, and I’ll stick up. One day, I say, no more packing up, I’m settling down. Some day, some day, I’ll figure it out. Someday, somehow. No more birthdays from the telephone. No more holidays spent alone. No more asking when I’m coming home. I’m sticking around.” 

I turn to alcoholism, to smoking for some sweet relief, yet I can’t bear to let my home know this. I am a happy, smiling, dedicated person to them. And that is the only place I can be that way, it seems. They bring a part of me to life that I love. I’ve never loved anything about myself, but this is something I’m proud of. The work I do. 

Part of me keeps thinking “I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. It’s so scary.” But alas, there is no option. Four AM on a Monday morning, with work in a few hours, I wonder what it is I am doing with my life. I don’t know where it’s heading. The Unknown is something mankind often fears, though. I am only human. The irony of that is the number of times I’ve been called a robot. Or been told that I am not one. 

So here I go, into the Unknown. 

Wish me luck?