Sick of Trying

I wrote this a while back but it’s still so accurate today so I wanted to share.

I am sick of trying. Sick of finding the infinite same responses to my most-asked questions. I want to dig out of my loneliness, my emptiness — my depression? I have dwelt upon my doleful thoughts many times. As much as it’s been a relief, and a pleasure to find the right words to put my pain into at times, I feel like I’ve done enough of it. Writing is an activity I will always cherish. I cannot live without it. But it is not enough. I want more. My morose disposition hinders me from moving. I came to the point where I can’t fight anymore. I do get up each morning. I wear this pretty mask all day long. I go to sleep at night, effortlessly trying to get some sleep but never getting enough of it. In all these moments, I absorb the pain and the sadness. I take the blows, get back up, and suffer in silence. That’s a never-ending feeling. I am so possessed by it that I almost can’t feel it anymore.

The little insights I’ve had on overcoming such obstacles lit up my hopes for a while. And though they reappear sometimes, it never lasts long. Because…

Writing my feelings down in a diary isn’t enough anymore.

Reading relatable stories isn’t enough anymore.

Praying that each day that passes will be fine isn’t enough anymore.

Awaiting impatiently for a short-lengthen event (that might make me smile) to occur isn’t enough anymore.

Holding onto inspirational quotes isn’t enough anymore.

Hoping that someone, anyone, sees my posts on social media, those in which I dwell more or less explicitly  about  it all, and that someone will reach out to me — whilst deep down I know that nobody notices me — isn’t enough anymore. And I’m tired of it.

None of this is enough anymore. I want something concrete. I can’t rely on expectations and wishes anymore. And yet I keep on being delusional, filled with crumbling dreams and shattering thoughts.

 

I need someone to take my hands and guide me.

I need someone to hold me in their arms.

I need someone to say: “I know you’ve been pretending all along”.

I need someone to know me.

I need someone to be listening even though their words might not always be right.

 

I want to take someone in my arms, tell them they’re just fine the way they are. I am willing to take somebody under my wings and make them see how beautifully they can fly. I want to tell someone the well-known three-word sentence and show my infinite support. I want to break through someone’s shell, notice how torn apart they have been and tell them how much I care about their hidden sadness. I know what it is like not only to feel invisible but to be invisible. I know that no matter how introvert and shy I am, being in the spotlight can feel really good, because for a single instant you are aware you can be noticed, you can be seen and you do matter. Invisibility is a burden.

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8 thoughts on “Sick of Trying

  1. I really enjoy the writing in this one. I like the final three sentences best, as they probably landed most with me. I agree that the awareness that you can be seen, noticed, and valued can be like a shock to our system. It challenges everything we know about ourselves, yet it feels good. Right, even.

  2. There are times when I can distract myself from feeling all of this. There also times in which I can’t, and I feel it all. But not only do I feel the depression of the present moment, but the regret of every memory and voice and emotion from the past that never stops haunting me, and every desire and craving and thought of a perfect possible future that never leaves me long enough to begin to be okay with myself and the way life is. No matter how hard I try, nothing works out for me, except for when Mother Nature wants to make me feel better, and so pulls her cloud curtains over the sun, makes it dark for me, and pours her rain over my head and down my face, not to mask my tears, but to be my tears for me. In return, I lift my chin to her rumbling sky to admire the wicked beauty of every bolt of lightning she throws down. She misses me with each bolt, but I can’t blame her for that. After all, it’s just a show she puts on for me as she offers an opportunity for me to look upon her with a clear mind and increasingly wet feet. And every day that there are clear skies that make me wonder if I’m capable of feeling something as normal as love, I do occasionally get that rainy reminder from her that I can at least appreciate what she does for me, even if all I can offer her in return falls way short of what can be called “love.” This is what I get for not trying anymore.

    *Thank you for sharing what you wrote. Reading it inspired me to write the above paragraph, which I could break up into a poem and be called “creative” by people who read it. I know invisibility is a burden, I know firsthand, but even the invisible is still felt, just as the wind in a storm. Even the invisible can have a great impact on those around them. Truly, the above words never bothered to come to me until I read what you wrote, and then they came, and now there are no amount of words I can put together to properly express my gratitude to you.

    **Wow, what I just said there was so dramatic, wasn’t it? I am such a drama queen. Yeah, I’m totally rolling my eyes at myself.

    ***I hope you find that someone to hold you in their arms. You deserve it. 🙂

    ****I almost didn’t press “Post Comment.” Sometimes, I get so nervous about what kind of reaction I’m going to get from someone about something I write that I have to wonder if pressing “Post Comment” is something I just shouldn’t do. But sometimes, I just press it anyway, you know, just ’cause.

    1. Thank you for writing this. You made the right choice by clicking “post comment”. I’m glad you were inspired to write this. And thanks again for reading!

  3. I love how explicitly you have written this. It’s heart touching. ❤️. Great post and I hope you have an amazing day. 💕

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