So I think I’m depressed.
See, there’s this pressure at the back of my head
The bottom-right corner
Well, my right.
And I’m just so tired. I can feel my blood choke and crawl.
It takes extra effort to move at all.
All the sounds sound a little muffled and hard to hear
Kind of like the audio of the old YouTube player.
And the colours are grey-filtered like Zack Snyder was in charge of post production.
It takes extra effort to function.
Mom would always get mad
when I “forgot” to remind Dad to pay the child support.
She thought I respected his money more.
Nothing could be more from the truth.
She told me in divorce court that he didn’t want me.
Still all I wanted was for my dad to like me.
And it was hard to pretend that he did
when it felt like I was forcing him to support me.
I have arrhythmia.
That means that my heart beats sometimes on the off beat
and on the off chance it beats
on the same beat
it feels like opposing flows meet.
Basically, my heart is beat deaf.
And that’s a good analogy
of how I feel when I can’t sleep.
Or at least that’s what I think
with heavy eyes that just can’t seem
to decide which position to keep.
And I try to shut my eyes but my eyes won’t stay seamed.
And time ticks but to dream remains no small feat.
So I sink deep into my bed.
And I listen to my heart beat it’s little beat deaf head.
And I wrote a little poem, I hope that it makes sense.
It’s January 8 of the new year and it’s clear
that at 22 it’s too late to keep thinking imma be great.
So maybe it’s time to give in to fate.
So maybe it’s time to date the death of a dream on January the 8th.
I’m writing, hoping that I’m right eyeing a purpose.
I’m fighting but each day I question my purpose.
And if life is meant to be lived purposefully, what I’m living ain’t worth it
I know my life is far from perfect
And I’ve learn it can always get worse and
I can try to fight fate, but I always end up losing
So what’s the point?
Hey Mr. Sandman,
Bring me a dream.
And look it’s not even just for the sleep
My anxiety just keeps me tied to this screen because I’m afraid to be quietly
And honestly, this isn’t doing any favours especially for the life of my battery.
I can’t believe that I paid for them to just consider me.
Four and half years later I’m paying again for them to get rid of me.
What the fuck is an ‘application for graduation’ fee?
You’d think they’d have enough from the thousands of students paying thousands a week.
But speaking truthfully they don’t care about me.
It was rare to find a prof that thought twice about me.
I met more that were more than doubting.
I’ve had a few that were borderline shouting
at some students for not understanding.
Because they couldn’t admit that they sucked at teaching.
Whenever I told people where I worked
People always asked if it wasn’t dangerous
But honest to God, I’ve never seen so much growth in God
Or humanity shown outside of this little halfway house of halfway hostiles.
I went to bed around 11
It’s 1:40 now and I’m still awake
and I can’t shake the feeling
that a part of it has to do with you.
It’s not that you did anything wrong.
I just know that there’s a difference
between being honest and being a dick
and I’m too old to start shit.
I just haven’t figured out where that difference is.
So there’s a lot of silence.
I don’t know what to say
because I don’t know what you want to hear
and I know you say you don’t care
But you react
or worse you don’t
you’re somewhere else
and that feels worse than talking to myself.
This whole time I feel like shit writing this.
What a fucking hypocrite.
Besides who am I to criticize?
I’m a terrible conversationist as is.
I have this dream, see
And I’ve had it since I was kid. Maybe ten years old.
And ten years later I’m still pursuing it.
I have this dream, see.
And I know I can’t fail.
I can’t tell you how I know.
All I know is that I know I can’t fail.
I have this dream see.
And I know I can’t fail.
I’ve been working towards it all my life.
So the question of if I fail
has become my major anxiety.
All from this one dream, you see.