I never doubted my writing, I know it is not the best, but yesterday night, as I wrote yet another pretty brain dump, it hit me.
I have been writing my entire life, but it has gotten me nowhere, ever. And sure, there can be so many reasons, but one of them could be the fact that my writing is not great, right?
How can I have been writing for 20 years and still not be good enough?
The doubt remains: There has to be more to life than just this, right?
Misery and depression, getting a job, fight for your rights, eat dirt over and over.
And then, why am I so scared of death... Honestly, how can that be better or worse than life? Life is bullshit, that is what I feel right now.
I wish I was never called beautiful as a child, I wish people would have known and loved me for other reasons, like that I am smart, or kind, or weird... But why beautiful?
Maybe I am not as smart as him, or weird as her, or kind as that other one, but I don't want to be just beautiful, or sexy, or whatever shit like that.
I am more than a body, yet I am trapped in the stereotype: I am beautiful and that is why I had such a great time in my adolescence.
Pan, why did you like me from the beginning? I'm asking you because we had something that lasted quite some time.
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I remember when we used to write our posts for each other, even after having broken up, all our fears we could find right there, online in a secret yet public place.
Now I don't remember writing in Spanish anymore, I don't even remember how I felt back then, All I see now around me is a veil of darkness, though that veil is reality and not just a lense. I am tired, I am depressed, how is life supposed to feel? Am I the only empty one? Me and all the broken ones?
Pan, are you happy? Where has your life led to? What is the recipe for happiness? To know yourself, to have a passion, to be really good at something?
Is it love? Is it lust? Is it being independent? Is it partying?
Why am I so empty, so depressed? As rainy as today...
Sometimes I lie, sometimes I do bad things. Sometimes I question what I did. How sick can I get?