It’s such a luxury problem.. Sitting here safe, warm, fed, comfortable in my home.. Asking myself «What is the point of my life».
But I still do it.
I’ve had my share of depressive periods. I’ve come to the conclusion that there is no point with my existence several times. I’ve choked, I’ve jumped, I’ve burned, I’ve bled, I’ve overdosed. I have cursed at my saviours, cursed my own body for fighting to keep my alive when it felt like my spirit had died. I’ve given up. Given up, and then get back on my feet. But to actually map out where I am supposed to go, is really hard for me to do.
I don’t know what it is, that my soul is craving for.
I have always dreamed of finding something within me that I can label «potential». Something I can build on until I feel «worthy». Something that can make me feel like I’m of use. Something that can justify that I am here. Taking up the space, the resources.. Sometimes I think about it, if someone else had been born in my place- what would they have accomplished by now that I haven’t, that I might never will..?
This damned dark head.
Spent so many years like a living dead. Made it through so much. Not always sure, if it was worth it.
Stronger people than me have broken. Stronger people than me have come to the conclusion that life just ain’t worth living (have to put those lines in a song).
I have such an amazing family of strong, hard-working people with the best hearts. And then there is me, this complicated difficult hopeless loser that never seems to find her way, never makes the right decisions, never really get anywhere. Who sometimes become this deranged lunatic, disturbing everyone’s lives and everyone’s peace of mind. I know I am a burden, and not a blessing. I know that loving me sometimes turns into hate.
I have so much that I need to compensate for, but I can never seem to find a formula that works. I am always heading head first into a wall. It always feels like I’m not doing enough. I can never reach the woman I want to be, I’m not even sure if I can envision her anymore.
I just know that she is strong and brave. She’s someone you can lean on, depend on, trust.
I want to be her for you. I want to be her for me.
I just don’t know the steps to take, to get there.
But I will try. Fail. And try again.
There’s still time. There’s still hope. There’s still a will, a desire, a determination.
I just may need a reminder, when life slaps me across the face again.
So I leave these words here. I might need them.
Death will embrace me in the end regardless; but until then: I will live this one scary, messy, challenging, sometimes ugly sometimes beautiful thing called life.






























