My heart is heavy, and my soul is tired.
I have lost my appetite. Not just for food, but for life.
I have always feared to live just to die. I have always longed to do something out of the ordinary, to offer something to the world, to fulfill my purpose.
But right when I think I have finally found my purpose, what I’d love and choose to do for the rest of my life…
Everything that has been happening seems to be telling me that I can never be what I believe I can be.
And that’s why I hate having to depend on other people. Because nobody ever loved me enough to fight for me against all odds. Because people are weak, and they often break. Because in the end, I only have myself.
If only this has happened a little bit later, that is two years later, I could’ve dealt with this better. Because by then, I am already what I have dreamt of being.
I have already endured so much, given so much, sacrificed so much just to lose this battle. But losing now appears to be inevitable. And, boy, how I wish I’m reading the signs incorrectly.
I wish I could make it through this troubled life. I wish I could make it through the most gruesome two years. I wish I could make it through today.
And I don’t expect anybody to understand if ever I couldn’t.