I am looking at pictures from when I was young.
My face in those pictures is so alien to the one I stare at in the mirror now.
To some extent, I remember a bit how those pictures were taken. I think I remember the hopes and dreams that child had for his future. I was so keen to grow up. To become an individual. To have a group of friends, a good-paying job, everything I saw on TV is how I wanted my life to turn up.
To find love and all the fairy tale scenarios there can be. I was full to the brim with enthusiasm and desire to just get out. To live and build a life for myself.
Looking back I just sketch a smile filled with nostalgia and broken dreams.
I feel like I have lost every one of those dreams over time. I see pictures of my young self smiling, hugging my older brother and I am just left wondering how fucked up can one be. Because it’s me that’s gotten myself to this point. I am the one who isolated and pushed life away with all the experiences it brought. I kept telling myself it’s all futile, it’s all pointless. And now I can’t even enjoy any of it.
I am left standing in the corner and just watching. The worst feeling is when you can’t fathom a future for yourself.
I don’t desire much. None of the things I dreamed of as a child seem appealing anymore. None of the things people strive for are what I want.
“What do I want?”
I keep asking myself that so often, so much.
I am too far gone and that’s what hurts the most. Being so spaced out that nothing makes any sense. Not even waking up for another day tomorrow. For I don’t even treasure what I have. What I have worked so hard on, just needs more and more work to be put in. I can’t get out and I can’t stay. I am too weak to change and I am too much of a coward to stop. I am waiting and I have been waiting for years now but nothing’s changed and it doesn’t seem likely that it would. So why wait? Why wait? I keep asking myself.
“You’ll see.” the inner voice tells me.
