Shorts, Poems, and Imagines

Short #9: "What I Want"

I often think about the future, and I'm sure it is very much common for other people too. And what I might say might be similar to what others what might think. But like I said, I think about my future. I think about what I might be, will I truly be okay? Will I survive as an artist? Will I be an artist at all? Or most importantly, will I really remain an artist? When I am not preoccupied with something, I think about it a lot. And when I am forced to not do anything, I am forced to listen to music with nice lyrics that makes me not leave me alone in a room with my deep thoughts. I often think about what scares me and what my phobia really is, to be honest I never really knew (until now that is). I realized that my fear is of the future and the obscurity of it. Maybe it is why a lot of people fear death, because you never really know what happens after death, no one really lived to tell the tale of whether or not they actually saw the stairway to heaven or the bottomless pits of hell. The unknown is what scares us the most, and it is what scares me the most definitely. Currently I am afraid because I am uncertain of what I want to do for a living. A lot of people told me not to worry about it now, for it is miles away, I believe they are lying. It is very hard to believe what other people say when the thing you fear the most is not even inches away. Time is going ever so quickly, and the more I think, the more my fears engulf me and petrify me. Time goes on and my anxiety and depression embraces me like two friends that give the wrong guidance.

I've been told many times by my relatives to "choose my friends" but they didn't really elaborate in what kind of friends I should choose? Does it have to be concrete people? What they choose me, would be rude for me to refuse them for choosing me? I wonder what they will tell me if I told them that I had met two friends in the time where a big piece of my being was ripped out unexpectedly? What exactly will they say if I told them that two people invaded that hole in which that part of me used to be? What if they didn't invade me at all? What if I let them in? All these questions that conjure up my head unknowingly and unexpectedly. I don't know which part of my mind they came from, but it is what I think about often when I am alone. That is why I try to avoid it. Block it out as much as possible, make sure no one will hear, no one even myself. Because once a single soul knows, they start saying things I don't want to hear. Things that have an unknown end. And then I'm looking back at this big hole that is within me. Being near that hole was like standing over a cliff of roaring waves, except there wasn't any waves, nor was there an ocean's-- it was just a huge bottomless pit that outstretched onto the dark anonymous horizon. And never seem to notice that two people were following me. When I saw them, they were ever so seductive, they persuaded me to go closer to that that bottomless pit. They're presence was just so warm and inviting. So I let them in, and I let them push me off the cliff.

By then it was just me falling down to oblivion, I was falling way down, and those two people. However far down I was, I could perfectly see the expression on their faces, it was complete deceit and wickedness. Then they started to grow larger and bigger, so big that it past the skies. and then they jumped in the hole and drowned me stopping me from my fall. It was as if I was drowning in thick molasses where I could neither breathe or swim up. Even when I did make it to the surface, I would still be washed over by a violent wave that kept me down and knocking out my every breath. I bet if I were standing on that cliff again, I would see a dark black ocean, and it would seem beautiful, but you know if you fall over, you would drown and die. That's what my state was, I was drowning, but I wasn't dying. I was suffering and I didn't know why I kept fighting and I didn't know why I even tried. each time I made it to the surface, waves knock me out and I get the water in my lungs. Then I would be filled with the two people whom I will now call my friends. The two people that followed me to my abyss. The two people who seduced me in my most vulnerable state and pushed me off and engulfed me with their loathing and wickedness. Those two people have names, their names are anxiety and depression.