Has my time come

Has the time come? I struggle with this question a lot. What will I do? How will I survive? How will I go on? Everything is a blur most days—a hazy palette of moving images I see daily. I don’t remember what I did the day before; I don’t remember what I even ate. All I remember is that I lack purpose. My life, my purpose, my essence have been taken away from me. By whom, I don’t know. How long do I keep blaming others? I don’t know. When will the pain end?

I was supposed to be this genius, brilliant student who had everything sorted, everything planned, everything under her control. I was proud of going in front of people. I was proud of being shown off, yet a little shy.

Now, all I do is avoid people. I avoid friends who are more successful. I even avoid myself. I am scared to sit and think; I am scared of my thoughts. What if they finally convince me to take that final plunge?

Life has been nothing but a huge mess of words, shapes, and pictures, and all I do is sit and reminisce—feel ashamed and disgusted.

Disgust is another emotion I’ve learned is powerful enough to make you want to kill yourself. I feel disgusted that I am so weak, so lost. I am disgusted by the person I’ve become. But how do I change? I don’t know. All I know is I’m 25, and I am lost and clueless. I feel like life is running away. I feel like I’ve been left behind at some station, with no way of getting out of the dark platform and boarding the next train. The light at the end of the tunnel seems to have been extinguished, and the tunnel has become a cave. But my cave is different; it’s like a collapsed mine with both ends sealed.

Is someone coming to save me? I don’t know.

I have never really relied on anyone before. I’ve always been self-sufficient. But now I feel like the greatest burden ever borne on this earth. I feel like I am extremely useless, like I can’t do anything right. Perhaps the patience and support of parents also run dry when enough time has passed. Somewhere, I think I’ve accepted myself as the failure they all think I am. The hushed conversations now reach my ears. They make me want to die.

How does life change so much within two years? I am lost, and nobody can find me. I wanted to be an inspiration for my sister. However, all I’ve become is what not to become. Perhaps passion and following love was a bad idea. Perhaps I should have stuck to the formal course of life. My friends made the right call. I failed. And how spectacularly did I fail.

When will my time come? Every interview ends with disappointment. Everything seems futile. All efforts seem useless. Life seems to have no purpose. Perhaps that’s the bane of being 25.

I am not ashamed to admit I am jealous of my friends and their success. I have always considered myself to be more deserving of the things they got easily. Maybe that’s where the problem began.

All I want now is God’s grace, but He seems to have taken His hand off my head. A very stupid part of me believes I can make money by publishing this piece, but I slap that part with a reality check. Nothing has worked the way I wanted for the past two years. Why do I think it will work now? Lose hope—you are unemployable and perhaps unworthy of everything. The sense of failure, the despair, the hollowness I feel inside is consuming me slowly. I seek to get rid of it.

How? Maybe I’m purging myself right now by writing all this, but there’s no point, is there?

“You will always be a failure,” I tell myself.

Everything scares me. Everything rattles me. I want my life back. That’s all I want.

I should’ve stopped social media long back. Seeing happy travel posts makes me sick. I am unable to tolerate happiness. The bitterness is exhausting.

I want an escape, and I want God to help me.

This was intended to be a story and ended up being a monologue. How do I fail everywhere? This could be a cry for help. This could be a shot in the dark. But its been too long since I've seen the light. I am currently on this study buddy platform, I can see everyone studying, doing their work. While I sit here, trying to purge myself off of the hopelessness I feel, writing was supposed to be cathartic right? Then why do I feel more and more lost with each word? Is this useless? Why did they need to tell me i will achieve great things? I havent. I have only achieved sadness and misery for myself and others around me.

Devastated. morbidly sad, and forever gloomy-all I can say about myself. I know I was better, I know I deserved more. Then why? The question haunts me, it haunts me a lot.

Every day starts the same, and ends the same. Every day is a reminder of another day gone, every night I struggle to sleep. I struggle to rest my eyes. My brain is constantly working, and working, and working.

How do I stop it? My throat closes up when I need to respond in interviews, the fear has made me its home. I am told to confront it, to let go of inhibitions, but I cant, I just cant. The unnamed fear has me in its clutches.

Hostility and irritation- my family only induces these feelings in me. I pity them. They had to put up with me. I wish I was better, I wish i was not so clueless.

I am lost.

I wish someone finds me soon.

I wish someone saves me soon.

I.........wish............