Yesterday was my birthday. I’m supposed to be wiser than I was the day or year before that. But as I blew out my candle, I was much more clueless than I was when I was a kid. All I could feel was the same profound loneliness. It’s so close to turning a year older. I never seem to get it off. It keeps on coming back like a disease keeping me sick. No matter how I try to keep it at bay, it slips past me every waking hour and quiet night.
Sometimes, it keeps me up—when I can no longer bear it. Sometimes, it hurts too much I thought I was close to the sweet relief of non-existence. I’d be lying if I told you I was never once tempted to follow that loneliness down the precipice. I wonder if I’ll hurt less once I let that loneliness lead me down a path of non-existence. I wonder about the day the people who love me can no longer anchor me to the ground.
I feel like a burden on their shoulders, rotting their souls like a plague. Sometimes I wonder what relief they must feel without trying to lift me on their shoulders. I wish I could without causing them heartaches. If only I could stop existing without leaving traces and memories behind. Maybe then they wouldn’t remember that I was gone. Or that I existed in the first place. Maybe then I could save them from the inevitable grief.
This is all my wishful thinking. Although it’s a struggle to keep it that way, I try.
All I can do is try.