Tacenda ➵ poems

dilemmas

I had just realized this now, january 25, 2018. Thursday, 12:22 a.m.

I wasn't a kid anymore. I was in fact a teenager, and that fact I've known ever since the depression of puberty struck me stronger than I have expected. When I look at myself now I still see that 12 year old who hated herself so much four years ago. she'd do everything to prove it by writing essays and stories about how much she does.

And i still do that now. Fifteen, and about to turn sixteen on march. I've thought i've surpassed the great grief and became a better person. I've become worse. I don't know what's happening to me, it's like I didn't learn from my own fucked up mistakes at all. And I could see a patern. One moment I'd be fucking up repeatedly, not caring for the consequences that would certainly come later on, and on the other, I'm regretting everything I've done to lead me to that point of my life.

And I've got no one to blame, but myself. And I am fully aware of that, but still I drag people in to the mess I've created and make them suffer as well, and I hate myself that I do that. It's a horrible, stupid patern, that I've figured out now. And despite the fact of knowing it, I still do it over and over again, and I'm in a timeloop of my own destruction.

I feel like I'm better than other people because of the knowledge I've gathered independently without the help of professors and teachers and whatnot, but the truth is I know nothing at all. And I'm letting my own ignorance of life get to me. And even if my age adds up and I become this twenty one year old girl still studying college, on the verge to find some decent job that would make me capable of feeding my own mouth; I would still hate myself, more than anyone.

I don't know why; oh no in fact I do know why. Because I'm nothing but a failure. I try to be the better person that everyone surrounding me wants me to be, but something bad idioticly happens, and I would be back where I started, and I would get exhausted and just give up. Everyone around me has dreams of what they want to be after college, they've all got their lives planned out and here I am still dreaming and doing nothing about it.

And don't give me the fucking crap of "just follow your dreams" bullshit, because life isn't like that. Life isn't a fucking movie that has conflicts that would help the story go along and suddenly it's solved. Life is a fucking burden. Life is the goddamn devil, holding us by our necks while telling us to run away from our problems. And we can't run away from them because we're tied. And the only way to get out is if you die or if you learn to get used to the feeling of suffocating everytime you try to breathe in.

That's life for me. A bit too much coming from a fifteen year old girl, but sometimes I think I know what I'm talking about.

It's absolutely saddening if I think about it now. My mother had repeatedly reminded me that I needed to change myself for the better because I was going to be eighteen in two years. And I did calculate it, and time had suddenly horrified me. It feels like I'm running out of time, and I'm not doing anything to save it. I'm just sitting there in one corner, watching everything vanish and pop into existence, and I feel depressed because I'm like that. This is all my own fault.

I shouldn't have done everything that I did to lead me to this point, but It wasn't like I could turn back time now. I'm stuck here in one place, forever trying to be better and I would just fall down into the abyss that sucks everything good out of my head.