Time moves forward.


I have not written anything here for a little while. I’ve been unsure what to write. I write to make myself feel better but part of me also writes for a bit of validation. Not that I seek attention, but rather I just want people to know. I don’t even need people to understand, just a nod of their head telling me they at least heard or read what I have to say. Perhaps that part of me comes from being alone for so long that I never had people to even tell even my most benign thoughts too.

People have died in my world recently. Not anyone close, but not so far away as I would not notice. Death makes my problems seem petty and insignificant. In truth they are, it does not make them go away or change how I feel but I know they are. I fear for the future of my father because I can tell he does not believe he has one. He is stuck in a job he is too old to be doing, and all his friends are dead. I once said that I live in a manner that is just me committing suicide the long way around. My father is doing a much better job of it than me. All he has left are alcohol and a woman he dates simply so he won’t be alone.  This alcoholic who broke my heart a thousand times slowly dying ahead of me.

What about me? I grasp for moments of happiness. I do things for the first time other have taken for granted. I can actually be happy for short periods of time. It’s the moments before and after that trouble me. A night with friends fills me with anxiety. I have trouble making phone calls and am worried something will always go wrong. Then after, I feel regret. Not at a good time, I just had but rather that I never had such experiences before. I think of the past and fall deeper down a spiral of depression. Am lucky if the only thing I feel is just empty. The funny thing about time is that it won’t stop. Life does not stop for me, my problems, my father’s problems or anyone else. Even death does not stop the march of time, at least not for everyone else. So am alive, and I will keep watching the time slip forward for as long as I am alive. Just doing my best.

Tiresome Fight


There is a weight on my back. Something I carry everywhere I go. Thoughts, feelings, urges…This life is a tiresome one. I’m always dragging my feet and looking at the ground. Is it alright to say I don’t want to live? Such an awkward thing to say. How do you respond to such a thing. The most simple responsibility humanity has is to live. It shouldn’t be hard, but to me it’s like fighting a mountain. The sheer pressure of this fight to live often makes me crumble.

I have a responsibility to stay alive. To my parents, to my siblings, to friends I never experienced till recent years. I keep paying a price for this life that but there is no equal exchange for happiness. My tears hold no monetary value. The fight hurts, I have shed so many of those valueless tears. I can’t give up, but it hurts so much.

Year after year.

Last year on this date I made a toast to myself and all introverts, the depressed, to any facing anxiety, to the outcasts, misunderstood and any dealing with mental illness. The time passes again and we live another year.

A new year almost begs me to look back onto the year before it. What have I done, what have I not? Who am I this year, who was I before? How many times has my heart broken and how long have I spent repairing it? How long can I keep moving on like this.

Still I keep on living, there must be meaning in that. Living is not something people do out of some stubbornness. I want to live, I want to keep moving forward, I want to see how this story ends. So I will struggle for another year, then I will struggle through the year after that. Despite the gravity of sadness, time will always move forward.


Note to self


Perhaps you have seen this writing experiment before. Sometimes it’s two words, sometimes a sentience. It is no secret I carry a lot of pain for my past. It is easy to fall into thoughts of what if’s, and what would you change. What If’s are cheap. If you spend your life wondering what you could of done in the past, you will never get anything done now.

If I could write a note to myself with only two words it be. “Don’t Run” Running is easy, but sooner or later you will run into a corner with nowhere else to go. When you’re in a corner even the most extreme ways out seem like options to you. However my efforts would be futile. My younger self would ignore this advice like so much other advice because his mind simply wasn’t programmed that way. It was the time I spent between now and then that changed the way my mind worked, and no words can change the mind the way that time can.

Get up!

Winston Churchill said “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” Yet I often feel like I stalled. I sometimes feel like I can no longer move forward. That this is my hell, and I should stay in it. I have trouble getting out of bed. Sleeping the hours away, wishing all my troubles could fade away like the dreams I have. I dream often, I dream of me dreaming. My guilty conscience creating fantasy out of my reality, If I refuse to get out of bed my dreams will chain me to it.


So why do I get up at all? My favorite poet said “Climb not out of stubbornness. Not out of a need to demonstrate the depth of will it takes to carry on. But because you owe you one.” I get up because I owe myself. Wasted hours, wasted years of my life sleeping. For all of my hard work to get this far. My road in hell may never end but I will keep putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes I may trip, or fall down. However stopping long since become no longer an option.


Aesop, words weigh us down.


There was once a young boy.

The boy could not speak well of himself.

He often call himself stupid, a loser, or worthless.

Each word added a chain to the boy.

Each chain would weigh on the boy.

As time passed the boys burden grow more and more heavy.

The heavier the boy became, the more he spoke ill of himself.

As boy grow more and more frustrated with his burden, he hated himself more.

The boys burden grow so great that he could no longer move.

Because he could no longer move he deemed his life unimportant.

While only thinking and speaking ill of himself, the boy was crushed by his chains.