Thoughts

Questions?

How...How do I start this? How do I write it? how can I convey what I'd like my reader to hear without seeming a̶r̶r̶o̶g̶a̶n̶t̶, i̶g̶n̶o̶r̶a̶n̶t̶, ̶c̶o̶n̶c̶e̶i̶t̶e̶d̶, ̶c̶h̶i̶l̶d̶i̶s̶h̶, ̶s̶e̶l̶f̶-̶c̶e̶n̶t̶e̶r̶e̶d̶, angry and sad? How can I tell people how I feel and expect them to care? How can I speak my mind and not seem like a raving lunatic? AM I raving lunatic?

Where did I go wrong? When did it get like this? Where along the line did I break? What happened that made it so I can hardly breathe when I speak? When did it get so that my dreams became nightmares? When did those nightmares become reality? Or is this reality not a reality? Is what I'm feeling even real? Am I real?

How can I tell?

Can you convince me of that thought you had?

Why did I do the things I did? What possessed me to think they were rational? What about me has changed to think anything otherwise? What made me want the things I want it? Did I need them? Did I think it would work out somehow? Did I think that if I kept going, everything would smooth itself out? why did I think that? Did I really want those things?

Why couldn't I convey myself as a younger man? Why couldn't I speak to understanding people? Why do misunderstanding people have kids? Why do they use them as a crutch for their choices? Why couldn't they just listen? Couldn't they see something was wrong? Did they just not care? Or did they just think I was acting again, like a child? Why did they think that? Why, when they knew why? Why didn't they tell me? Why did they lie?

Why didn't anyone notice? Why didn't anyone listen? Why is it I still feel like a high schooler trying to explain his mental health and depressing terms to anyone over the age of 40? Why is it no one cares? Why is it the people who you think would, don't? Why is it I can't make them understand? Why do I feel so alien?

The feeling lingers among me but I will someday die and empty husk of a man, sad and alcoholic in a pile of papers and ink spilled in the visage of blood. If that may be the case, it will be these handfuls of ramblings in my late twenties that will encapsulate who I am as a person, a writer, a brother, a son, coworker and a friend.

I long not for a future so uncertain and full of disdain that not even the bravest souls could track it, and yet, so many say they have. So many say they've walked the lighted path to a better, happier life and it's changed them. So many speak of the glory that must be to stand the end of a tunnel looking back at the darkness as it evades to light and smiling, truly smiling, knowing the worst is over.

But that Darkness, it's swallows me. Cold and comfortable like a blanket it wraps around my body at first but soon starts suffocating, slowly, and he will remaining in my soul and energy in my bones to walk out of that tunnel.

And so there I lie, enveloped in darkness, praying for the light.