Dead.

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.

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The Prison.

Will I ever escape from this prison of loneliness, depression and anxiety. Will I ever? Will I ever jump that wall to freedom? Will I bet reach the land of freedom and liberty. Where I can do anything I want. Have fun. Real fun. Enjoy. Laugh. Cry. Shout. Will I ever? Who locked me here? Why did he lock me here? The walls seem so high. The fences so strong. I have a fear. That I’ll never escape. Is that the truth? Will I ever escape? Can I even escape from this prison of sadness. Who will help me escape? What tools do I need to escape? Why can’t I just go damnit? I want to have fun. I want to leave. Can I even find the happiness I seek beyond those walls? Why? Why are these walls so high and strong? Why can’t I see what’s out there? Why am I alone? Why’s no one here? Why does no one visit me? What crime is so wrong that I have been left in solitary for so long. Will my life sentence ever end? Why have I been locked here? What have I done? Will I ever escape this horrible prison? Why me?

Nothing.

I feel nothing. No sadness. No anger. No happiness. Just nothing. I feel empty. An empty vessel. A man with no soul. With no heart. Why do I feel like this? Will this ever go away? Will I ever feel full? Or even with just a little bit inside me. No feeling of anything. I act happy. I act sad. I act angry. Yet I really don’t feel anything. It gets bigger and bigger. This feeling of nothing. I laugh. I shout. I cry. Yet nothing. I don’t how to put this into words. Does everyone feel this? Am I alone? Why me?

The Space.

The space I hate so much. Yet I love so much. The hatred I have for it. Yet the comfort I find in it. That empty space inside my soul. I’m with my best of friends and still feel that empty space. Be in a crowd of hundreds yet still feel in a room all alone. I’ve started to endure this empty space. I’ve started to fall in love with this empty space. In love the feeling of being disconnected and alone from the rest of the world. Yet I don’t want to be alone. I can’t decide. And thus. I loathe it. I hate it so much that I try my best to fill it. To fill it with love, with money, with food. Yet I know. This space cannot be filled. It’s like a part of me is missing. I’ve tried the best to fill it. Maybe I even did fill a fraction of it. Yet I just can’t get rid of this space. I can’t escape it. An endless void. A well with no bottom. I can’t explain this space. I don’t know what’s missing from there. Is there anything even missing in this space? The space I call loneliness.

The Hole.

I’m falling in the hole again. The hole I’ve been in. The hole that I hate. I don’t want to go in that hole. A monster lives in that hole. That monster is depression. It keeps pulling me down. I’m kicking. I’m kicking right on his face. I’m suffering. I’m trying my best to keep him away. But he finds every chance to pull me down. Every little slip and he’s pulling with all his strength. His friends live in that hole too. Anxiety, stress, loneliness and all of his other friends. Just waiting for me to fall so they can consume me alive. I’m scared. That I’ll fall. I don’t want to fall. Oh God. What if I fall? And there’s a slip. Soil moves beneath my feet. The monster finds a chance. He pulls me. I’m kicking as hard as I can. I don’t want to fall. I want to go to garden that’s just in view. The garden full of happiness and satisfaction. I want to live a happy life there with my friends and family. Why am I stuck in between. Why me? I call for help. There’s no one around. There’s me and the monsters. I’m scared. That I’ll fall. I don’t want to fall.

Coincidence 

Coincidence is a beautiful thing and I believe everything, and I mean everything is just a coincidence. From the creating of the universe to me being born, everything is a coincidence. Me writing this to you reading this, coincidence. There are no soulmates, just some random people meeting somewhere and having a lot of things in common. There is no being that created earth (talking about God now) there was ball of heat which hit another ball of heat and created earth and the waste material created the moon. You being born wasn’t a plan. There’s no being who created you, you were born because your parents randomly met each other and hit off. There was a coincidence that we evolved into this kind of species which is super smart. For example. Let’s just take a normal boy/girl who’s parents met in a bar. What if the father decided to go to a different bar that night. That boy/girl wouldn’t have been born. Wouldn’t have even existed. Destiny ain’t a thing, nobody planned your life, where you’ll go, who you’ll meet, just a couple of coincidences. You’re a tiny sliver in a tiny planet in just one galaxy of millions in this big universe. Universe doesn’t give a shit about you. 

God and Atheists

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 depend upon. And around 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.