Dead End

It all started with a pop. And all desire and inclination towards metamorphosis bursted into thin air. With the fear  of having a shorter life lingering in my head, I thought distancing myself from what would slowly kill me is the proper way to live.
So I stopped doing things that excite me. Things that give me rush of endorphins. Things that make me strong. And other things that used to take my breath away can now literally take me to my last.
I thought I was living. Then sadness and depression came in as the happy hormones are bunked off. And the colors of each day became blue then gray then black and white. I am withering like a tree losing its leaves as seasons change and as time goes by. I grew weaker everytime as life’s responsibilities I bear becomes heavier on my shoulders. And things just pass through me carrying a chip of my soul as they go. I am alive but feeling dead within.
I tried to go back. To what I used to be. To stop letting the fear of death bind me of my own misery. To see myself as a part of every sunrise, of rebirth, of renewed hope and change. And the courage to rebuild my strength and my will, the courage that I tried so hard to rebuild within despite the doom I constantly feel became desperation. It turned to be my constant plea to myself, for I know there’s no one who can help me to overcome these inner struggles. Then my desperation lead me to desperate actions of foolishness and self-destruction. My will is weak but it is strong enough to help me not to quit. At least for now.
It’s hard but I have to admit that I’ve let so much time to pass and now the road back seems to have drastically changed. I am a kid crying on my own, caught between the fear of my present, my dream of the future and the memories of my past. Now I’ve lost my way back.
I’ve forgotten what I should become and who I used to be.

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