Newspaper Blues
24 June 2018
Sunday
I normally don't read the newspaper, but when I do, it's because something's caught my attention. Staring out at me under stormy skies was the photo of a young woman in her late teens and above her the caption, "Secrets of a Lost Girl". Immediately I knew it was going to be an article on suicide. I don't know how, but I just knew. I grabbed up the paper, tucked it under my arm and retreated to a private place where I could read the story. I didn't expect it to be so long, so much encompassed into the 5-page spread.
The girl in the photo that beamed back at me was well-to-do, from a loving family and was pretty. No wonder she got a spread. Society doesn't care about the poor, unattractive and empty people. I hated the girl in the article. I know it's completely stupid, but I hated her for what she did. It felt like she stole something from me. Funny, considering I never met her and I never would. I felt that once again my agony had been silenced or ignored in favour of someone more attractive and well off. It felt that even in death I'd be passed over and fucked. I know I can't be alone in these feelings.
But despite my frustrations, I read the article. I'm 10 years older than her, from a different place entirely, have done completely different things. Different hobbies and interests, yet the words she spoke, extracted from pages in her diary, resonated within me. The emptiness, the longing to be something more, the feelings of never being enough and constantly being exhausted by everything.
I'm completely overwhelmed, trapped inside that I hate and don't want. Despite my best efforts to escape, I've never been able to. I'm suffocating here and all I want to do is die because I know that would end everything. I'm tired all the time, I'm sore and I just want to sleep, but that's being stolen from me like every other decent thing I've ever had in my life. I just don't know what the fuck to do anymore. I'm almost 30 and I have pretty much nothing to show for my time on this earth. Am I even here? What if all of this is some kind of torturous illusion?
When I was younger I thought there would be something else, something more to life. The world looked so much bigger and brighter, full of things for me to do and ways for me to occupy my time. I was wrong. I'm going to chalk it up to the inexperience and stupidity of childhood. Speaking of childhood, I keep having these little breaks where my mind goes back into childhood. Almost always the colours are muted and muddled. I don't know if it's my perception, my depression stripping the colour from the memory or if things were just that dark. The times swirl around me and it feels like I'm back in the moment, not like it's really passed me by, but that it's happening. Sometimes I simply watch it from the outside, watching everything unfold. It's been getting worse lately.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm awake or asleep or some kind of weird peninsula in between the two planes. I know they're not dreams, these little vacations from reality because I've asked people who were there about them and seen photos from the days in question. The stress is killing me. My own body is killing me. That's metal.
The girl in the photo that beamed back at me was well-to-do, from a loving family and was pretty. No wonder she got a spread. Society doesn't care about the poor, unattractive and empty people. I hated the girl in the article. I know it's completely stupid, but I hated her for what she did. It felt like she stole something from me. Funny, considering I never met her and I never would. I felt that once again my agony had been silenced or ignored in favour of someone more attractive and well off. It felt that even in death I'd be passed over and fucked. I know I can't be alone in these feelings.
But despite my frustrations, I read the article. I'm 10 years older than her, from a different place entirely, have done completely different things. Different hobbies and interests, yet the words she spoke, extracted from pages in her diary, resonated within me. The emptiness, the longing to be something more, the feelings of never being enough and constantly being exhausted by everything.
I'm completely overwhelmed, trapped inside that I hate and don't want. Despite my best efforts to escape, I've never been able to. I'm suffocating here and all I want to do is die because I know that would end everything. I'm tired all the time, I'm sore and I just want to sleep, but that's being stolen from me like every other decent thing I've ever had in my life. I just don't know what the fuck to do anymore. I'm almost 30 and I have pretty much nothing to show for my time on this earth. Am I even here? What if all of this is some kind of torturous illusion?
When I was younger I thought there would be something else, something more to life. The world looked so much bigger and brighter, full of things for me to do and ways for me to occupy my time. I was wrong. I'm going to chalk it up to the inexperience and stupidity of childhood. Speaking of childhood, I keep having these little breaks where my mind goes back into childhood. Almost always the colours are muted and muddled. I don't know if it's my perception, my depression stripping the colour from the memory or if things were just that dark. The times swirl around me and it feels like I'm back in the moment, not like it's really passed me by, but that it's happening. Sometimes I simply watch it from the outside, watching everything unfold. It's been getting worse lately.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm awake or asleep or some kind of weird peninsula in between the two planes. I know they're not dreams, these little vacations from reality because I've asked people who were there about them and seen photos from the days in question. The stress is killing me. My own body is killing me. That's metal.
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