The Marrero Chronicles

11.04.20

What is this?

I've been writing since I was in fourth grade. It's the only thing I've really been able to impress myself with throughout my life despite my many passions. Writing when you live your life depressed and feeling lost...it's so hard for me.  Every time I think my work speaks of originality and success something drives me to hit the backspace.

I've thought about what I want to write. What I want to publish. I want to be known for my writing. For sharing the depths of my dark mind with the world. However I'm never able to reach the part where I hit the publish button. In the dirty ocean of my thoughts I reminisce alone. I speak to myself, to this technological paper. I wait for a sign or an inkling that this is it. This is what will help me push myself in the writers world...but it hasn't come.

Will it ever? Sometimes I think about writing and I chicken out. Fear controls me a lot when it comes to this and I feel guilty for allowing it to happen. After everything in my life that I've been through, I try to make it a point and a goal to stop allowing fear to control me. My puppet strings are ME. Many people go through toxic relationships and friendships, but how many can say they're in one with themselves?

Sleeping scares me. A lot of my dreams terrorize me and I remember them all for the most part. When I'm dreaming, I'm awake.  I've been told that my soul is tortured by trauma, targeted by supernatural evil, that my brain is just..automatically genetically sad. What if I don't want to be sad anymore?

I almost took my life twice. I go through periods of time where I'm not sure if the mistake was trying or being saved. Living makes the air feel thick. All I can think about is how bad of a person I am. I'm such a failure and I hate it. I made a promise to my fiancée that I would go to college and because of my mother I'm getting kicked out for financial reasons...but I also stopped attending classes when I found out I couldn't stay. Everyone is telling me to be strong, but how can I?

How can you be strong when you're surrounded by so much negativity? Even when I cut the toxic people out, there leaves sexism, racism, discrimination. I've done the whole positivity thing. I've written the sticky notes and placed them around me. I forced myself out of bed and brushed through my hair. I started brushing my teeth in the shower to motivate me harder. I tried eating better. People tell me that I'm this beacon of hope and light but how can I see it when I can't recognize myself in the mirror?

Who am I really looking at? What am I really doing? Thinking about where my life could end up sends me into a panic attack. Will I die at twenty three from a suicidal relapse? If I get used to taking pills for medicine...will I stop? If I try drinking for the first time at twenty one, will I make it a habit? I've done so many terrible things to myself. It scares me to think I could screw myself up even more.

I like to tell myself I'm strong. That won't happen to me. I'm just paranoid. I'm just rambling because I'm scared and anxious.

But what if I'm wrong?
What if...
I failed? If..I'll never be good enough for anything. What if my fiancée falls out of love with me and I float through the world wondering what it was about me that made him run away? What if all my work for striving to have a more positive and productive life is for nothing?

Will I even publish this? Will anyone really know my pain? Will I continue with this?

I ask myself too many questions. I don't know if there's even an answer for any of them but they stay parading around in my mind, haunting me for the hell of it I guess. I will never be normal..and that's okay.

All I want is to know that my pain won't go unnoticed. I want to know that my relationship will be everlasting and be the best influence on my life. That I'll bear children of my own and won't continue the cycle of abuse my parents threw me into. That my writing is GOOD. That one day I'll get better and I won't have to ask myself all of these questions. Maybe one day I'll be able to drink water without being afraid that I'll choke on it. I've had an eating disorder for a really long time and I was told that it was correlated with my depression. I don't know how to recover from that and heal myself when I have been told I won't ever be genuinely happy. Even when I'm happy I'm still depressed and lost. Wandering the world in this cloudy bubble that a select view can see into.

It feels like drawing a square around yourself and building a brick house around yourself with a window that camouflages with the walls. There is no door, or light. You just stand there watching through the window YOU can see through and wait to see if someone else can too. Eventually after being in that dark little house only you can stand in, you succumb to the loneliness. You start finding a friend in the darkness that surrounds you. The rain that falls on you through storms is the most refreshing thing you can describe feeling. Feeling cold and wet even by your own lonesome reminds you that you're still human. You can still feel.

You can hold on to the hope that it gives you that someone just might walk by and notice you. They might aid you and offer a warm blanket or an umbrella. Maybe some food?

Does it suck? Holding on to the fleeting moment of hoping someone might be there and having it constantly disappear just as fast as it came?

The answer is always yes.