Wooshe
Member
- Mar 14, 2023
- 5
The moment I knew that with a piece of paper and pencil I can create. I knew what I wanted to do with my life. And I knew that no matter how bad it got I could always count on my fingers to leak out all the cocktails of emotions that the English language could never capture. Even when I was in the psych ward, they could take my sanity, my safety, and even the cloths off my back. But they could never take away my creativity. Art is what kept me sane, when locked behind 4 walls that screamed this is how you get better. I could find Pease in listing to the pencil scratch the pepper like a record player. That with each line a crack was made in the disk that played a symphony so unnatural it made the devil himself weep on his thrown. Even now as I speak, I am starting to feel the keyboard again. But all of this is shadowed.
For I have failed.
I have to grow up and move on. I'm going to become a welder. Hopefully make good money and live alone. But it's not my dream job. When I told my mom this, she poked fun at how dramatic I was. Or I guess am. But I feel like she was trying to comfort me because she felt the cycle coming to an end. She tried to say that I could always just keep practicing on my free time, but I don't have any. I constantly feel like I'm at the front lines. Dismembered bodies resemble my broken past, my mind tries to hide under the mud. My room is a fucking mess. My mind is turning agents me again. Having nightmares or relapsing and self-harming again. And I'm glad I see them as that. But the ghost sweets and panic of me looking at my wrist is less desirable. When can a man go if his own mind isn't safe? Nowhere. I know I'm going to drown myself in work and become a welder. But the feeling of failure that fallows will kill me slowly. Like retreating behind no man's land. seeing the same dead corps only rotten and scattered by rats. I just can't help but feel like I lived for nothing. All the nights spent fitting everything just to feel worse. Just hopping that later, I can look back and feel better. I gave myself an ultimatum. Become an artist by this year or become a welder and commit suicide when I couldn't take it anymore.
GOD DAMN IT. When life takes away so much you have nothing to appreciate but the little things. But I want to live, not crape the floor for breadcrumbs. I know if I have made my goal, it would only make me happy for a while. But I don't care about happiness, I can't have that shit anyways. If I want to be happy, I would've just ended my life years ago. I just want to be content with my life. I just wanted to be able to support myself, get my dream job, have 2 cars. One for point A to B. One for rally racing. And a motorcycle. That's all I'm asking for. And I couldn't even do that. And I know it's no one's fault but my own. But I have to be realistic I'm not going to make it. and I just don't know what to do. So ill just vent for now while I dance with the blade on my wrist.
TLDR: I failed to get my dream job and now I feel as if I'm going to commit suicide soon.
P.S Just want to say sorry for grammar I'm just too tired to re-read everything and make sure its digestible. Again, I just needed a place to get this off my chest. I feel a bit better but not enough to sleep. Hopefully I can make some depressing art. stay safe yell.
For I have failed.
I have to grow up and move on. I'm going to become a welder. Hopefully make good money and live alone. But it's not my dream job. When I told my mom this, she poked fun at how dramatic I was. Or I guess am. But I feel like she was trying to comfort me because she felt the cycle coming to an end. She tried to say that I could always just keep practicing on my free time, but I don't have any. I constantly feel like I'm at the front lines. Dismembered bodies resemble my broken past, my mind tries to hide under the mud. My room is a fucking mess. My mind is turning agents me again. Having nightmares or relapsing and self-harming again. And I'm glad I see them as that. But the ghost sweets and panic of me looking at my wrist is less desirable. When can a man go if his own mind isn't safe? Nowhere. I know I'm going to drown myself in work and become a welder. But the feeling of failure that fallows will kill me slowly. Like retreating behind no man's land. seeing the same dead corps only rotten and scattered by rats. I just can't help but feel like I lived for nothing. All the nights spent fitting everything just to feel worse. Just hopping that later, I can look back and feel better. I gave myself an ultimatum. Become an artist by this year or become a welder and commit suicide when I couldn't take it anymore.
GOD DAMN IT. When life takes away so much you have nothing to appreciate but the little things. But I want to live, not crape the floor for breadcrumbs. I know if I have made my goal, it would only make me happy for a while. But I don't care about happiness, I can't have that shit anyways. If I want to be happy, I would've just ended my life years ago. I just want to be content with my life. I just wanted to be able to support myself, get my dream job, have 2 cars. One for point A to B. One for rally racing. And a motorcycle. That's all I'm asking for. And I couldn't even do that. And I know it's no one's fault but my own. But I have to be realistic I'm not going to make it. and I just don't know what to do. So ill just vent for now while I dance with the blade on my wrist.
TLDR: I failed to get my dream job and now I feel as if I'm going to commit suicide soon.
P.S Just want to say sorry for grammar I'm just too tired to re-read everything and make sure its digestible. Again, I just needed a place to get this off my chest. I feel a bit better but not enough to sleep. Hopefully I can make some depressing art. stay safe yell.
