We are only helpless because we are heartless. I often wonder what my life would be if things were different. What if I was born into a rich family? What if I was popular? What if I had it all? Would I be better than I am now? Would I suffer so? I'll never know sadly. I like to think that I am the man I am today for a reason. That there has to be some purpose to my life. I just haven't found that purpose. Purpose is what is driving me, I want, no I NEED to find that purpose. I NEED to find that vision of me that I can be proud of and make it a reality. I just feel like time is running out. I am 32, half way to the grave, if I'm granted the normal life expectancy that is. I just feel this pressure to figure things out and then the helplessness sets in. I don't know where to go. My heart is really heavy. Its a major source of anxiety in my life. Time cuts like a knife. What am I here for? What am I able to do?
Sadly, nothing seems to be the answer. Everything I touch, every relationship I try to build turns to dust between my fingers. A source of my depression. Where do I go and what do I do? So I write so that when I am dead and gone my words and ideas can live on. So I can be immortal in the cyber world. That maybe I won't be forgotten. That maybe I can save a soul with my experiences. Lord knows I have persevered. I feel old though, I feel weak. Every day the will to open my eyes gets tougher. The meds I am taking, I am not sure they are helping. I can't believe I have become reliant on a pill to get me through the day. I use to think I was strong, unbreakable, then it happened. The chest pains, the shortness of breath, the panic, the static, the fear. A lifetimes worth of shit, pain, sadness, loneliness, alienation seemingly screaming forth from every pore of my body. It had nowhere else to go, I couldn't swallow it anymore. I couldn't entertain the demons anymore. So now I am here, hoping for a miracle. Hoping that one day it will all go away and I could resume normal living.
Its a helpless hope. I have to keep fighting, I have to do whatever it takes to survive. Maybe my purpose is to ride out the storm, to prove to the world and myself that I can in fact overcome. That I am not the loser people foretold of, I am not. I am more than anyone thought I could be. Maybe my purpose is to conquer my demons. Maybe my tale will be one of triumph against a world which hates me. No longer will I be silent in my anguish. May I be a voice in the silence, a light in the darkness, a beacon of hope in the void of despair. This is my purpose. Together, we can conquer anything.