Lately I’ve been finding it very hard to do the smallest of tasks, today it took me 2 hours to convince myself to get out of bed and go shower after school. Once I had actually showered, I left my hair wet, and it is still wet, it has been around 6 hours.
I’m finding it hard to go to sleep.
I’m finding it hard to wake up.
I’m finding it hard to remain in control of my emotions.
I’m finding it hard to eat, dream, write, work, paint,
I am finding almost everything hard.
Sometimes I feel I have no one to talk to, everywhere I turn I’m judged or told that I’m too emotional, or I’m ‘not allowed’ to talk about such things, this is one of the only safe spaces I have, where I can tap tap tap away at 1:27am and not get told off for not sleeping.
My question is, when did that become a bad thing?
I’m sure Shakespeare was emotional. Heck, I’m sure Picasso, Michael Angelo, Da Vinci, Van Gogh, Maya Angelou, Duffy and Larkin, were all bloody emotional too.
I’m seeing all these horrific things on the news and I feel utterly miserable because of them, not to mention the horrific pressures of school, my parents, my religious expectations, life en general.
I want to write.
I really want to write.
The thing is I see poetry everywhere, I see it, breathe it, live it.
It is everywhere for me.
And yet the blank spaces on paper, or the blank screen on my phone daunt me, scare me away.
I feel useless, pointless, reckless, hopeless, and all the other lessers.
I feel empowered, inspired, motivated, hopeful,
I feel everything
I feel nothing
I love life
I hate life
Like this it goes on, and on, and on,
never ending, never beginning,
My breakdowns are becoming frequent, I’m scared.
I’m really scared. I don’t want to be who I was 4 years ago, I’ve made progress,
I feel myself slipping,
holding on to the edge of a jagged cliff surface,
the roaring waves beneath me, wanting, craving to
I feel myself soaring,
leaving everything, everyone behind……
The world turns, night turns to day, and I miss another sunrise.
I remember when I yearned for sunrise. I used to slurp it up like a giddy child having slush. Not caring if I got brainfreeze, or would you say brainmelt?
Now I dare not even open my curtains some days.
It’s in the small things. Do I bother brushing my teeth? Do I bother making my bed? Do I bother planning an outfit? Do I bother living?
This is not always. This is sometimes.
Sometimes I can rule the world.
Sometimes I cannot even rule myself.
Sometimes is becoming often.
I must sleep. For tomorrow there is another facade to live upto.
I must sleep. for tomorrow I have another life to live.
Every breath is a new life, is there any greater blessing?