Gnawer

I don’t want to work.

I’m staring at my endless homework that doesn’t fucking add up together the way it’s supposed to and I feel like crying. I don’t want to think, I don’t want to function, I don’t think I want to breathe anymore.

I don’t feel like I’m really living anyway. What am I doing with my life? Really? Nothing I do is ultimately productive: what am I working towards? What do I have to look forward to when I wake up anymore? Life is so tiring and monotonous. Full of the same routine, full of the same work that doesn’t amount to shit, full of the same people who see right through you.

Life is a flat line for me. It’s been like that for a long time. I keep waiting, thinking something amazing will happen but it never does. So? Make something happen on your own, right? Is it that easy? What if people don’t listen, what if they don’t care? What if you just make a fool of yourself? I suppose that’s alright to some of you, but excuse me, sorry— I’m a fucking coward. 

Can I become fearless? Can someone give me even an iota of courage please?

I hate being considered a kid. Thanks to someone, I’ve been struggling with the concept of maturity ever since sophomore year. Thanks for telling my sister that she was more mature than me. Thanks for making my already low self esteem plunge into an abyss of nothing. I feel like I can’t ever grow up. Even my parents seem to think so. What did you think maturity was? Did you think you were better than everyone else? I’m getting tired of thinking of you frankly. I wish you would just hurry up and move to your dream school. 

My grandmother is dying. Is dead? Is dying? I just learned that she’s in a coma. But in day or so, she will have passed away. My mom’s crying. I don’t feel a thing. Maybe nothing except for frustration. I was going somewhere. I was looking forward to it so much— it was like my lifeline. I felt like I was finally doing something. Maybe I’m not lame anymore, I’m going somewhere, I have something to look forward to other than monotony. They can’t look down at me anymore. I’ll have something to say for once other than a strained smile and a polite, distant “nothing”.

And in a flash, it’s taken away. Just like that. I feel like I’m sinking.

There’s a hint of guilt. But mostly, I’m just so damn frustrated. Frustrated at my incomprehensible work, my friends that can only see— only accept— a part of me, and at my inability to speak up.

Speak up.

I want to fucking scream.