Alone: On The Edge

III

Mood: Suicidal
Colour: Azure Blue
Song: I Just Want You (Ozzy Osbourne)

The one and only thing that comes to my suicidal mind is not whether I will rise to see the sun tomorrow or not; but whether I deserve what I am going through or not. I did not bargain for any of this. In fact I don’t think I deserve any of it in the first place. It’s not as if I am upset at the fact that it made me damn depressed and dejected, or that it made me wonder why is it that I am getting such a rough deal out of life. It’s just that when such things happen, they make you feel as though you are staring the futility of life right in the face and wondering what this existence is worth anyway. It’s something like a mirror that you know is flawed: still you stand before it and bear the reflection. But more painful than that is the dilemma as to who or what am I enduring all this for really? What am I getting out of this ordeal? This burdened existence, with all the dynamicity of a mountain range and the variety of desert landscape, reinvents itself every once in a while and provides new monotonic routines replete with drudgery and “mind-bending” mechanical processes.

Have you ever felt like a leaf fluttering in the storm, struggling to hold on to the branch while being thrown around in every possible direction? Or perhaps like a lonesome traveler on a long dreary road being forced to run helter-skelter in the rain? Or likened yourself to a boat being tossed around in a churning sea…… the sea of life? Helpless, clueless, rudderless! Wondering all through when the ordeal would be over and there shall be peace all around: An all-pervading, ethereal sense of peacefulness; of nothingness; of lightness.

But it’s time now. I am tethering on the edge. The edge between the devil and the deep sea. Both are inviting and reprehensible at the same time.

My head is whirring with a thousand emotions. A maelstrom ensues in the inner echelons of my mind. Morality raises its fragmented hood. Right and wrong face off. Responsibility and duty confront each other.

I am tired of being counted upon. I am fed up with being held responsible. I’ve had enough of living up to people’s expectations. Not that I’m running away or shirking reality, but all of this for what purpose? Whatever happened to my expectations, my desires, my existence?

I am giving it all up, and without even a hint of remorse. I was never fit for this world anyway. Down with the misfits.

P.S.: Bitter-sweet irony that I wrote this on my birthday.

Mood: Circumspect
Colour: Crimson
Song: Smells Like Teen Spirit (Nirvana)