Visions (Oliver Sykes)

All These Visions Must Be A Sign.

I was stuck in my routine once again. Everything I had done had resulted in getting the life I had before; the one I hated deeply, in which nobody noticed me. I pretended not to care about it, but it was bothering me way too much. I had tried to forget everything that I had buried inside, but I was getting sick of lying to myself. I tried to convince myself that I was getting better, but acting didn't get me anywhere. The past few weeks, I had laughed, danced, smiled but it wasn't as real as I thought it was. I just didn't want any attention anymore. I didn't want them to see I wasn't fixed and could never truly be.

When I entered my apartment, it reflected the mess I had become. It was dirty and nothing was at its place. I didn't allow anyone in here anymore. They didn't need to see something was wrong.

There were drawings everywhere, empty bottles on every table. I just didn't see the point in cleaning. I didn't really see the point in anything, to be honest. I felt this constant weigh on me and I was beginning to slowly fall beneath it.

This place looked extremely familiar except that time had done its damage to it. The windows were so dirty that the light could hardly pass through them, there was dirt on the desk, the shelves and even on the bed. The air was heavy, as if there wasn't enough oxygen in it. There was also this feeling that something terrible had happened here. A piece of paper on the desk caught my attention. I picked it up but as soon as I saw the writing, I threw it on the ground. It was my writing, my lyrics, my room. As I looked right in front of me, my eyes landed on a hung body. This place was what I had left behind me when my time had come, or rather when I got too sick of the time passing so slowly.

I opened my eyes and sat, breathing heavily. Everytime I fell asleep I had one of those dreams. One that made me see what my life could become. What hurt the most in this one was the fact that nobody had even found me. I stayed alone long after my death.

We don't always have the time to make a choice, we don't always see something coming. Or rather, we don't want to see it coming. I wonder if someone can be totally lucid about it and wouldn't be afraid to die. I don't think people realise that they're going to end their lives and they wouldn't be given another one ever again. That might sound stupid because we can't have regrets when we're six feet underground. Anyway, I wasn't lucid about it.

But it sometimes gets hard to enjoy and appreciate your life simply because nothing seems to go as you would like it to. That's one of the positive things in life too. Unpredictable things added that dose of adventure in life. We all need a bit of action to feel like our lives were actually worth living. But sometimes, you get too carried away and the adventure ends tragically.

You can think that you've seen enough of the world, that you understood how cruel the world is, but honestly, it's not true. Most people that think that way haven't seen anything at all. In fact, they're so young they have the pretension to think they've understood what's not understandable. To be understandable, something needs to be logic and thoughtful. The human race wasn't any of those.

I had made of my life a living hell. I didn't enjoy anything anymore. Drawing had become harder because I couldn't stand to see that each piece of paper I had laid hands on reflected a failed life. Writing couldn't help me clear my mind anymore, neither could a shower or a walk in the cool air. I couldn't even feel hopeless anymore.

The only thing I could feel was guilt. It was slowly eating me alive. Some memories came back, making me think about the people I could've saved.

At the time, I didn't know what to do and I still don't know what I could've done. I remember a friend of mine, a few years ago, he completely broke down in front of me. In a matter of seconds, something in his eyes cracked, making the tears come up but he wouldn't let them fall. His voice began to tremble, his hands began to shake. And I stood there. I just stood there and watched him fall apart. I didn't do anything. And I never did. I felt guilty. Even more now that the roles could be reversed.

Sometimes, listening could be sufficient. It wasn't back then. Little by little, he distanced himself from me. He wouldn't even let me say hi. At first I refused it, but he gave all his arguments to convince me that it'll help him get better. And I believed him. But after a few weeks, I saw him slowly give up on everything he had. And I still didn't do anything. The worst part being that he asked me not to talk to him anymore but he still talked to a lot of other people. Yet I did what I was told. And I'll probably regret it until the end.

I know I might act heartless most of the time, but I have my reasons. I think everybody has their reasons to be who they are. We all went through rough times and developed ways to overcome them. Detaching myself has been my way of dealing with what goes wrong in my life. I knew that if I went too far my vision would come true. But it's a vicious thing, because once the pain is gone, you don't want it to come back just to seem more human, sensible. When I see what humans can do, I don't want to be one. I'm at a point where I don't want to exist anymore because there's honestly nothing I do that can be useful.

Walking a fine line between the right and the real is a rough task when you don't know yourself what is right and what isn't. You fall after a few steps, and your world falls with you.

My eyes weren't connected to my brain, there was a little time between the moment my eyes saw something and when my brain understood it. That made me see a few reflections of myself. I looked lost, as if I didn't have a reason to live anymore. Truth is, I actually didn't have anything to live for.

When we stand on the edge, we see the abyss before us. We try to think and decide whether to take a step backwards or to fall purposely. But even though we see the hole, we don't necessarily see how deep it is so that when you thought you couldn't get lower, you fall again. It's proceeded by stages and not only one long fall like you would've hoped. Also, getting back up is nearly impossible. You have to learn to live with the darkness of the depth until the day you fell so many times that you can't see anything but darkness. When you can't see the vision of the light of hope, then you can say you're at the lowest.

You become even lonelier when you get deeper into the abyss, living with your memories and regrets, with the fact that everything could be so different if you hadn't decided to drink a coffee three years ago and that such little things matter.

I lost my hope in feeling fine again. I couldn't stand to pretend to be so happy while at work and salt my wounds when I'm alone. That life I had created was too hard for me, too pointless. But at the same time, I couldn't give up just now. I haven't left my mark in this world yet. I couldn't leave anything because I had nothing to be remembered for.

"Oliver! Open that door! I have something amazing to tell you!" Someone yelled while almost breaking my front door.

"Calm down, Matt. I'm coming." I said flatly.

Without warning or asking, he entered my flat, a big smile on his face and unable to stay motionless. I would have smiled at this view a few months back, but now I couldn't even do anything else than notice it.

"I have a date with Natasha tonight!" And just like that I felt myself fall a little more into the abyss I already was in.

I don't think I was jealous. It's just that I had met her first and I just thought there was something special about her because she seemed to be able to read me. I guess I was wrong, just like I often am.

"That's great, dude! Have fun." I swear I tried to sound enthusiastic but I know I didn't. I tried to push him out so that he wouldn't take my appearance in. It was as if Matt wasn't looking at anything in particular because he went out by himself, just smiling once more at me before leaving me alone.

I fell on the floor, my hands covering my face. Being this vulnerable made me feel sick. Feeling this lonely had got the best of me. I was at my breaking point. And I couldn't care less if my visions came true anymore.