I’ve always believed in magic. That’s what kept me going. Faith. Faith that one day my life would be happy and filled with love, peace…
But now I have an equal belief in nothing. They’re fighting with one another. The possibility that I’ll never accomplish my dreams and that pursuing happiness is pointless for me.
The possibility that life means nothing and I’m an accomplice to my ‘believe in magic’ bullshit. That maybe I fed myself those stories for so long because they helped me survive and mask the truth of circumstances.
I wish I were brave enough to end it. But I imagine I would probably fuck that up to. A failed suicide leaving me a physically paralyzed vegetable who cannot attempt again yet who no longer believes in anything- except for the nothing.
A vegetable. My brain in overdrive as my hands lay limp and lifeless. Staring into empty space. Screaming internally while no one can hear me even as they look directly into my eyes.
I suppose right now is no different.