The Righter

Untitled

Pâro
n. the feeling that no matter what you do is always somehow wrong—as if there's some obvious way forward that everybody else can see but you.

Broken. Dejected. Tired.

I tell them I'm falling, they don't listen to me. I try again and the only response I get is silence. The third time when I attempt, they ask me why with a laugh like I told them a joke. And that's when I get silent.

Things get out of hands so slowly and steadily that I can't make it out where was the point I lost myself completely. Was it that night I cried silently, muffled my sobs in the silence. Or was it when all of my efforts turned to dust in a matter of few seconds, leaving me dispirited.

I try. I try so much not to get demoralized. To keep that freaking things called a smile up on my lips, to accept changes, to accept defeat, to move on and tell myself that it's okay but it doesn't work so much now. I have done all the little tricks that used to work in the past but things just keep slipping from my hands and I see everything crashing before my eyes but I don't do anything. I can't do anything. I wonder why. 

I'm so done sacrificing everything. I don't wanna compromise my everything for something so obscure. For people so ungrateful, for the future sill pending, for the life so unpredictable and for me so pitiless. Life was always a battle but I think I'm fighting against myself now. Am I still in this fight or have I lost?

Something's are just getting on my nerves, you know? Here is me, such a big supporter of faith and belief in one's efforts, in one's God, of optimism and here is me again writing this like it's a suicide note. 

You know, like there's a piece of elastic, you keep pulling on it. But it's flexible, it's made to be pulled apart. You keep exerting force, trying to tear it apart. And a time comes that it point reached its breaking point. that if you apply even a single ounce of force now, it will break. That's where I am.

I hate being despaired but it's getting frustrating. I put so much into everything but all I hear is doors getting shut close with a deafening boom right before me. I'm tired. I don't want to do anything now. I don't how to manage life. This life, this career, these people can go to hell for all I care. They've given me nothing but torment.

Now that I glance in the past, I think I used to be pretty expert at it. Dealing with stuff like a pro. Tying the world and all its sorrows and the problems it shoved at me, on my finger with a flick of my hair to the side. Without a worry.

When will things get better? I might die asking myself that question every wretched minute, at every heart broken rejection.
Please don't ask me why I'm writing this. I think I would have been bit more happier if I knew the reason why it's all happening.

Don't ask me why. That time has long gone.