They say to find what you love and let it kill you. I think I took this too literally. My love for my hobbies is like being addicted to a drug. When it's in your system, you feel all tingly and energetic, but once it leaves, you feel worthless and sorrowful. My hobbies are a drug, and my participation, the needle, I can feel the poison coarse through my veins. At first, it was shiny and new. It was thrilling. Now, the high is rare. I'm no longer happy with my work, I no longer feel like I've done the best I can. I fear that I relied too much on this drug to bring me joy, and now the effects are wearing thin. I had found what I loved, and I clung so desperately to it despite the pain, like the addict I am; and I can't bring myself to stop. What I love is slowly killing me, destroying my mind, and clawing at my heart. I have found what I love, and it will kill me.
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The World That Is My Mind
RandomThis is a series of short drabbles bout things I experience and feel that could be relatable to others. Still not sure if these could be classified as stories or poems or whatever else you want to call them, so u as readers can decide for yourselves...
