My heart is heavy

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.