“I get tired of everyone, even you.”
It’s been such a difficult week, majorly lacking in productivity and inspiration. I said I wanted to write something, and life has thrown me my biggest writer’s block ever. I stay up until 3am trying to wreck my brains to come up with something, anything worth a mention at all that won’t bore the panel of judges and readers, but seemingly my life is either too boring, or the issues I wanted to address are too personal to go public.
I’m trying to do a daily poem challenge in view of April being the National Poetry Month, yet I can’t seem to write any poem that isn’t related to love and romance. I’ve come to romanticize everything – pain, pleasure, and utter peril. I could romanticize a toilet bowl scrubber, but what use would it be if the same theme is used every single day?
I’m picky on my writing, I delete entire chunks of text when I reread and find myself unhappy with it. I’m not usually that meticulous of a person, but my expectations and standards on my own writing are ridiculously, out-of-the-roof high. I am definitely not your usual, everyday perfectionist, not like some of my friends who are in my standards, overachievers but to them, they’ve barely begun their roads to success.
A few days ago, I found out some brand new insights to certain parts of my junior college life that I arguably never wished I had found out. The pain of the particular event itself, although now down in the books of history, still stings and sears like the depths of hell. A sickening dawn of realisation to the question I’ve always casually, subconsciously pondered over, that it’s not because of an accidental mistake as what they’ve suggested, but a deliberate attempt of cruelty and malice. Does it actually matter now? No. Does it hurt? Yes.
I’ve come to realise that you should probably always keep your expectations of others low. On days when they make you particularly happy, you are probably better off assuming that it’s because they’ve had a particularly excellent day. As you watch your conversations slowly deteriorate to subpar standards, you know that every single promise you had previously made – they are going straight down the drain.
I live nearly every single day now in anxiety. I’m not that terrible of a person, really, but society knows how to evilly play with me. Sometimes, I think I’m about to lose to it all. I want to share the joy with some of my friends but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to, not until I’ve escaped the danger zone myself. When can I be relieved of my anxiety? When will my patience be tested until?
I don’t know. I need answers. But oh life, it’s not giving me any – not at the moment.
; 