My life has always meant to mean something. Why can't I just let go of this stupid idea of meaning? I don't really know anything so I don't see why I have to continue on this false path of knowledge. My ignorance keeps me afloat, keeps me in touch with the world around me.
I watched the life fall from my own eyes. I saw the voice leave from my throat in heavy waves, I saw the soul rise from my chest like ghosts, I felt the breath leave my lips like the lies that cling to my bones when I'm around other human beings. What do these people mean? Nothing. I could watch one of their lives fade before my eyes, and I would feel nothing.
My own apathy and distance only neutralizes me. I no longer become afraid when I realize my life is in danger. Instead, I see a challenge, a meaningless threat, a stupid dare. Whoever thinks they can kill me, whoever thinks they can destroy what I have, has never aimed very high, has never really fought for anything worth dying for.
The last time I looked at myself I noticed extremely simple things, like the unevenness of my complexion or the depth of my eye sockets, or the heaviness of the smoke that continues to linger in my throat long after I've fallen asleep, and I swear that it seeps out of the corners of my mouth before I can catch it or even know it exists. Now I see things that are more complex, like how I wake up to nothing every day. Like how I wake up to white washed walls and thick slats of sunlight that only remind me of how hard it is for me to enjoy a beautiful day. I watch the way it fades off of my wall, the way the white is drenched in yellow and how soft it can feel if only I could allow myself embrace its warmth.
I refuse to go outside. I refuse for the sun to paint me in beauty that I don't deserve, refuse to allow my soul to exist.
If God wanted this life for me, he didn't want me to know why. God doesn't want me to know anything, at least, that's the conclusion I've come to. To be in the dark is to be blind to any bias or goal. Instead, I choose to live because I have no choice. To be given a chance is to be given life, and that I do not deserve. None of us deserve the breath that fills or lungs and passes through our lips. None of us deserve the little nuances of consciousness we hold so dear.
I wish I could forgive everyone. I wish I could tell them, despite everything they've done, that it's okay. I also wish I could go to all the people who destroyed my life and tell them that it's all their fault.
But I can't, because I know it's my fault. That's why I don't blame anybody. That's why, when people tell me that I need to face my demons, I only see myself. And this is the same self that they go to extreme measures to convince me is beautiful. Which only tells me that these stupid doctorate degrees have no idea what the fuck they're talking about or who the fuck they're dealing with.
Why can't these people just tell me to accept my own evil? Why can't they just tell me to move on and away from it? Why are they so convinced that all my problems have stemmed from something else?
What if it's just ME?
Because it's a little bit of both.
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