There’s nothing I hate more than waking up. It happens every day. Sometimes more than once. Oh, how I wish this could just stop, be able to keep sleeping, drifting away from the world of the conscious mind until my thoughts get lost in eternal darkness. The void from wich I was ripped apart from. But I haven’t forgotten that peaceful state of pure nothingness. Most of the time I can feel it crawling in my chest or in the back of my head. I can feel it’s disgust, it’s boredom, that it doesn’t know what to do in this hostile environment. It doesn’t react well either to stimulations from the outside nor for the ones that come from within. Understanding of the phenomenon doesn’t escape my grasp, since I am too in perpetual pain, anxious, and going insane.
You could say I’m just waiting for my death. That magnificent great event. The ultimate freedom that is promised to every living thing. I’ve been dreaming about that moment for so long. My one desire. The only need that persists. But the universe won’t make me any favors. Not a single hint of help to ease my pain. My suffering continues day by day. And I can’t be expecting that something horrible will push me hard enough to make me fall off the edge into oblivion.
My soul, if there´s such thing, is broken beyond repair. Wounded by despair. Perpetuated by my blindly stubborn will. I have no road to walk. I’m a wanderer of the absurdity of my own existence. Transient are my satisfactions. The needs never disappear. In the futile chain of actions that constitute this joke of mine, the punchline is yet to come. Fierce and relentless like a nuclear blast.
That awareness doesn’t suffocate my laughter, even if the tears run down like boiling water. My suffering keeps me going, my feet are burning, I can’t take a break without fading away inside my head. Words serve no purpose. They lose all meaning as soon as they form to create a reality based on flawed information. Delusions designed to bring some order to the chaos. Make some sense of the blurred shadows we are barely able to perceive and comprehend. The eternal fight against uncertainty.
I’ve come to terms with my emptiness. With the void. Although, that doesn’t mean that it’s effect on me has disappeared, it only means that our relationship has evolved. Now I feel I’m waiting to get back home after a rough day. Where I belong. That’s fine. There should be nothing sad about it. What bothers me, based on my suicidal nature, is that I developed some kind of impatience towards life itself. Allow me to elaborate:
For almost a decade –more or less-, I’ve come up with certain dates in which I had decided I would end this sick play called “my life”. But when the time came, I delayed it for one or a couple of years more in the false hope that things would stop being so repulsive. Ha, ha, another joke I played on myself.
What can I say? I didn’t know me as well as I do now. My point is that I had a certain time to die, therefore, I tried to experience it all. The extasy of knowing Death is coming for you to take you to the ride of your existence… It was like being nine years old on your birthday party; you know the party will end at eight o’clock, so you try to get the most of it before they turn off the lights and everybody’s gone.
Since the last time I had appointed committing suicide and didn’t even try it, I released myself of that ritual I created to endure. Now I think I’ll let Death come to me by any means it can. I’m not afraid of dying. Still, I’ve overcome myself as well as every thought and belief I’ve had to stand where I am. I’ve survived the burning desire to slit my veins open and bleed until the darkness consume me. May Death come without any warning. Or better yet, may it come while I sleep, so I don’t have to wake up anymore.
Por J. Reed
Por J. Reed
