Cancer
- Emaan Faith
- Oct 7, 2015
- 2 min read
My thoughts are cancerous...
It's like i'm constantly setting myself up for failure.
I’m watching all my doubts and fears turn into self-fulfilling prophecies before my eyes, unable to stop them. I fear it is too late for me to turn my life around and now that I mention it - it probably is.
I have single handedly ruined every good thing that has ever come my way.
If I hadn't fucked up each and every one of the opportunities I have been handed so graciously over and over again, I could easily have easily have become everything I could ever dream of being. And yet here I am, paralyzed in fear, sinking in the quicksand that is my cancerous thoughts.
Sometimes, I have intense moments of euphoria and clarity where I suddenly regain faith in myself and believe that the universe might find a way of working things out for me until I am reminded that I probably don’t deserve it.
Being special is a privilege that gets taken away from you when abused. I let my potential slip through my fingers like the tears in which I drown myself.
I’m running out of time….
My once beautifully crafted mind has been recklessly warped into a mess which not even I can understand. The damage is irreversible, the only thing left to do is to embrace the disaster that I am and accept a life of monotonous mediocrity, forevermore.
It's honestly like i'm living in greyscale. The colors have slowly been drained from my life and left me with nothing but black and white.
There’s either right or there’s wrong and I’m just so far gone in the wrong direction there is no turning back for me...
At this point, I would rather be considered clinically insane than a failure. So I embrace depression fully. At least having a mental disability would prevent me from having to take accountability from the failure that is my life.
I’m learning to find comfort in my sadness. Like an old friend, I welcome it with open arms and allow it to consume me.
I stay in most nights to avoid having to fake happiness because in drunken moments of bliss I start to wonder if life isn’t so bad after all but the only thing worse than the physical hangover is the painful realization that alcohol is probably my only source of happiness and even that isn’t real. Reality hits, inevitably and I’m back to beating myself up over and over again.
It’s a vicious cycle - From my self-destruction to my constant victimization…
I honestly see no escape. And so I embrace depression fully to free me from the burden of having to save myself from the cancer that is my thoughts.
The end.
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