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Nov 26, 24

I don’t know what happened to me, but I feel completely cut off now. It’s like I’m on some different planet or something. Earth, that place everyone’s so obsessed with, feels so far away. Even if every single living thing on it came together, even if they put their whole damn hearts into it, I don’t think I’ll ever find any peace here. Not as long as I’m stuck on this stupid planet. I don’t want to dream anymore, or run after those ridiculous dreams, only to end up staring at myself in the mirror, feeling like I’ve been split into a thousand pieces. I’ve lost all the belief I ever had in myself. I know these are pretty heavy words, but what else do you expect from a guy who feels like he’s falling apart? I can’t do the work I wanted to do, I can’t hug the woman I care about, and when I try to help, my hand just hangs there, useless. When I yell, nobody hears me. Everything I try just... doesn’t happen. It never goes anywhere. Sometimes, I think I’m losing my mind. No—sometimes, I think I’ve lost it in a way nobody else ever could. Then, sometimes, it’s the opposite. I look around and I think, "Maybe I’m the smartest guy in the room." So smart that I can’t even talk to any of the so-called “crazy” people. It’s like I’m both the sanest and the most lost person at the same time. I don’t even know how that’s possible, but it feels real.

When I was a kid, I used to have big plans. I used to think the future was something to look forward to. I used to think I’d be somebody. But not because I thought I was something special. Actually, it was the opposite—I wanted to live because I believed in other people more than I ever believed in myself. But that was before. Back when I still had a little bit of hope. The problem is, God—yeah, you know who I mean—has been testing me all along. Every time I said something, I was tested. And I failed. Every time. But He knows what’s really inside me. He knows I’ve never been a bad person. The thing is, I can’t recognize the person I’ve become anymore. And that kills me. I don’t like who I am now. Not at all. I’ve got nothing to say. No grand speech, no outburst, nothing. I don’t even think there’s any real reason for me to be here anymore. It’s like nobody really loves me. They just put up with me, for one reason or another. And honestly, thinking about that doesn’t even make me feel anything anymore. I’m just... tired. Tired of being me. I don’t even like the way I think, the way I talk, or the way I act. In this whole stupid world, I’m not even useful to myself. No one listens to me. I can’t even have a conversation with myself anymore. It feels like I’ve taken a trip, but it’s not a trip to anywhere. It’s a trip toward nothing. No matter where I look, there’s nothing there. Nothing to the left, nothing to the right. No front, no back. No up, no down. It’s all just this big void around me, swallowing me up. I’m not moving anywhere, just stuck on some empty road with no end in sight.

I don’t even know why I’m still here. I mean, I talk like I could walk away from all this, but the truth is, I don’t even have the guts to end it. I think I’ve been cursed to live as someone who has no courage for anything. It’s like all my memories have been erased. Everything I used to know, all my habits, everything that made me, well, me—it’s all gone. The closer I get to something, the further it seems to drift away. Whatever I used to admire or long for, I’ve somehow turned into the thing I can’t stand the most. And now? Now, I just want to get rid of everything—everything that’s keeping me here. I don’t care about the obligations, or the reasons, or the excuses anymore. I just want to disappear to some tiny village in some random country, live out my days alone, and never, ever look back.

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Maybe, in the midst of all the massacres, the only place I could hide was in the curve of your knees. But I knew—I knew it all along—that trying to make something happen that was never meant to be would only bring pain. I knew that all the deaths, the tortures, the disappointments, and the fears I’ve seen and heard, they were all caused by those who tried to force something into existence. So why, knowing all this, do I still see you in my dreams? Why can’t I, for the life of me, stop thinking about you, even though I know it will never be?

But really, how does one get you out of their mind?

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Maybe you'll only live one day in this life, and you're spending your whole life preparing for that one day.

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Open the door

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A household of four

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On the road

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Way home…

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