Life weariness

I do apologise in advance for the complete mess my mind gave birth to. It’s more of an experiment, a sort of brainstorming, whose text won’t be revised neither corrected nor read in the meanwhile. I know it’s hard to be appreciated, but I feel like it needs to be a thing, it needs to exist, as incomplete and chaotic as it is.

I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s way easier to get sad than to try and be happy. The latter sentence is the whole point of this post, I’ve decided to write it first in order to catch anyone’s attention. Likes and views aren’t as many as what you all made me used to in those three initial months. You’ve just seen me throwing a little vent in a subtle way, just to slightly complain about how my blog is going. Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you: it’s 11:53 pm of any Thursday and, since I’m running out of ideas, I’ll just brainstorm any sentences which come up to my mind. I’m not even starting new lines because I’d love you to read what I’m writing just as I’m doing it, confusedly but remotely logic. Enough of my yammering and back to the beginning: I really envy truly happy people. I do. Because… how? But, most importantly: why? The angry part of my personality is the first one to answer (“Because they’ve never had to go through any rough moments during the course of their life.) Well, you’re probably right and I’d be tended to utterly agree with you. I mean, every truly happy person (or who called themeselves so) I’ve ever met has always lived an amazing life and still does. When they tell me about what they consider “problems”, I’d like to punch them in the face and make them live just 1/4 of what I’ve been forced to face. That’s the same logic of those parents (mine included) that tell their children: “Oh baby love, think about African or Asian kids… they’re starving and would die to eat what you’re throwing a tantrum for”. I’ve always hated those whimsical kids and I’m shamed I was one of them for a brief period of my life. Anyway: I was going to contradict myself and say something like: “Yeah, my anger says so but actually I believe happy people are brave enough not to be put down”, but I’m not going to say it because that’s not what I think. It’s not that I hate happy people, I would never hate something I aim to. I just won’t understand them. Why me and not you? Why do you have the chance to live the perfect life and I was taken away that possibility? That automatically leads to another important issue: if you think that your past doesn’t and shouldn’t define yourself, quit reading NOW. It’s o b v i o u s that your life, God, destiny, call it as you want, has never made you think about suicide. Because, trust me, when you’re close to doing such an obnoxious and lame act, you’ve really had enough. And, of course, since the day you where saved (by another person or by yourself), you’ll never be the same and that will always affect your way of thinking, of speaking, of apologising, of arguing, of living. By saying that, I wasn’t trying to get your pity or become the new “suicide girl“. I was just trying to tell a story. The story of an unhappy person who is tremendously jealous of the happy.   Could I be any more selfish and self-centered? I highly doubt so.

@layalke 🐍

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Mrs Headache, don’t leave me

▶ Migraine – Twenty One Pilots

Words might help when communicating, but music is on a whole new level.

When a thought is stuck in your head, it won’t leave easily. It’s stuck, pinned, immovable. You find yourself thinking about that one issue and you lose entire hours you’ll never get back. Mine is my future. There is not a single moment where I’m not imagining it: what I’ll do after my diploma and my degree, my job, my spouse, my death. My death, oh dear heavens. I hate thinking about when and how I’ll die because of my headache, my damn deathly headache but I can’t help doing it. It’s my bossy fiancée, my impertinent wife. She won’t leave me because she knows I need her, otherwise I wouldn’t ask for her presence so often. I can’t survive without her because she can both frighten me and deceive me because she can calm my thirst for knowledge at that very moment. I spend half-days, especially on Sunday, just lying on my bed and making either realistic or utopian plans; plans I’ll never give birth to, plans that probably won’t ever see the light I see everyday, plans that oughtn’t exist.

My death. I hate deaths, mostly others’ deaths; your life does not belong to you only: once you’re dead, well, it’s not a problem of yours anymore; instead, you leave this burden, this now useless weight to the people around you who love you. You’ll be missed by them, not by yourself, of course. You’ll be dead. 

Does saying that I’m afraid of dying make me another ordinary and basic person? I feel like it does but that’s the truth and I can’t hide it.

Here it comes, mrs Headache. I’ve missed you and I know now you’ll be able to cure me of the disease you caused.

Learn how to greet your mrs. Headache. You’ll get used to when you are the one who visits her.

@layalke 🐍