I’ve tried hard. I’ve pushed myself into crossing out everything on my list. But all of my goals, they are nothing.
I followed what I was told to do. I’ve managed to survive. I’ve made changes, I’ve compromised. Yet, all those efforts were for nothing.
I’ve worked on being better, of having a more positive outlook in life. Yet, here I am, in the darkest corner of my room… wallowing in self-pity.
Because no matter what I do, no matter what I achieve, they all mean nothing.
All I wanted was for a better treatment, to at least see a ray of light, that things will be better. But such is not the case.
I act tough. I act like nothing could break me. But inside this shell, my dust-sized self shrinks to something much smaller… more coarse, more raw.
I am beginning to hate myself more. For exerting effort onto something just so I can feel like I matter. But I don’t… and now I’m contemplating whether or not to just set fire on these so called accomplishments.
Coz no matter what I do, achieve and reach, they will never be enough. Hell, I am never enough.
Might as well make my walls thicker, and higher. Might as well keep up with the pretense that I don’t give a damn about anything. Maybe I need to let the fires consume me and leave all the water to evaporate.
In the end, it’s the only thing keeping me sane. It’s the only thing that keeps my walls up, locking the emptiness within.