I laugh, I shout, I cry, I try to be happy when I feel nothing inside me, I try to feel like I’m enjoying myself when I’m out doing something, anything, but I feel like nothing inside, I look happy from the outside when I’m actually dying inside. Dying? I feel like I’m already dead. I feel like a dead man from the inside with no soul and no happiness, and I feel like I’m satisfied with what I have, yet I never am, because how can a dead man be satisfied? How can a dead man feel happy? How? I wonder how. How can I be alive anymore? How can I feel something? How can I amount to something? How? How to act happy when I’m not? Why do I keep trying? Why do I keep trying to be happy? Why do I act? Why do I act like I feel something when I don’t? Will this ever end? Will my life always be like this? Will I ever feel something? Will I always act like I feel something? When can I be the man I am? When can I have a soul? When can I feel something? When will I feel what I feel from the inside? Dead.
It feels like I’m stuck in an elevator. Neither going up nor going down. Stuck in the middle. Stuck in between floors. Stuck between levels. Not going anywhere. Just stuck there. Not moving forward. Not going back. Just stuck. I keep pressing the alarm button but no one hears. I’m alone here. Why is no one around? I’m getting claustrophobic. I’m banging the doors. No one is here. I wish I could get out. I wish I could go up. If not up then at least down. I just wish to go somewhere. I just wish to do something. But the doors won’t budge; the doors won’t open. Why won’t they open? Why won’t the elevator move?
I’m stuck in an elevator. In between levels. Levels being the stages of my life and the elevator, me.
And me being stuck here as I wish to move but I can’t. I’m just stuck not moving anywhere. I hope I move. I hope I go up. I hope I’m not stuck anymore in the elevator of life.
I want you to leave. You monster. You never leave. You go for some weeks and come back. I thought you were gone. I thought I left you behind. I thought I could move on with my life. Finally do something. But you didn’t leave, did you? What an asshole you are. Nobody likes you. Nobody wants you. You call yourself depression. What you are is a monster; you’re the monster that lives in me. And never leave. Why don’t you just leave? Why can’t you let me be? Why do you want me to suffer? What have I done? Why me?
So I read a quote. “No atheist at sea” literally meaning that at the last moments of a person’s life he is not an atheist. Obviously, when you know now you can’t save yourself, you depend on someone else. That someone else, is God. When you are desperate for help you don’t think the methods of helping yourself instead you look for people who would help. When you’re stuck below something you don’t see the ways to push that thing up but instead you shout for help. I think that that is how people started believing in God, they needed someone to dependaround that God became religion. And from that religion they made stories. To have more belief in the God. People started to become needy, and someone to fulfill their needs, so what if the wishes don’t come true, they said you just have to ‘belief’. And when you believe that is the time when you will get your wishes granted. And slowly the people made a business around ‘God’. They started selling statues and books and pictures and opened up temples, started taking money which they called ‘donations’. That is the times everything went wrong when people started asking money in the name of God. Heck, even the beggar asks money in the name of God. It’s not wrong to belief. It’s when you make profit off that belief. And when they weren’t satisfied with one God they made more Gods, 330 million to be exact in just one country. I would think that’s a bit over the top. And yet, I write this on the way to a temple, not because I wanted to, but my family who believes in this God wanted to.