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Sometimes I want to die. I don't think I'd ever hurt myself, not unless things were a great deal worse, but it's a common feeling for me--the desire to be at my end. An ideation, nothing more or less. I think it stems from a deep and existential discomfort, one that I can't--or wont--shake. And it feels like the only lasting escape is the permanent one.
I am filled with so many hungers, and they often go unfed. Life feels like an endless fast at times, and there is little I can do to sate these desires. I want to be taller. I cannot. I want to beautiful. I will never be. I want to be stronger. Perhaps in time, but I only get older.
I want freedom in almost absolute terms. I want money, a severe dearth of obligations, to be loved, to be free to be my whole self, unguarded and open, to be un-aging. A diamond of need.
This is not the life I was born into, and it seems impossible to create almost any facet of it now.
Going home makes it worse. When I'm in on the coasts, I feel so unburdened by the dysfunction of my family. Of my hometown. Of my social circles, and of my failings. The Midwest is the tundra of my soul.
When I am gone, I feel immeasurably closer to my dreams, and when I am here, I feel the walls rapidly, quietly and then loudly, closing in. The winter is a lodestone, and I cant be the only one who it weighs heavy upon.
You sit here, 6 or 7 months of the year, waiting for comfort. Waiting to be free. And when it comes, its great. Time flies, and long-term plans can wait--the good times are here, after all.
But then it's winter again. Time to burrow, time to hibernate, time to wait until our strength recovers. And the cycles begins anew.
Meanwhile, it becomes increasingly harder to extricate oneself from the situation--and things tend to worsen. Flexibility freezes. Our wounds, just like our bonds, deepen. Seaosons pass without positive change, only a slow decay, an endless, rusting chain.
To be here is to feel the simultaneous endlessness of the present, as well as the incredible brevity of our existence in this world. The immutability of reality to all our devices--and its own unfeeling, mercurial state--staggers you if stand in the cold and listen. And what else is there to do here?
As best I can figure, I need to stay away. Every trip back feels endless. When I am gone, I move forward at least. Things do change. My bank account looks nicer, and my debts slowly melt away. Perhaps in time I will even know comfort somewhere else. But never here.
How can a place, how can "home," look so familiar but feel so rotten? An apple left out in November rots. But the smell subsides in December's cold. And when finally spring returns, who can remember it?
I have to stay away from here. It's my only chance.
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Sorry for the typos. Hope someone else can relate.
Replyhaving desire is human nature that u can't change ..... but feeling satisfied is you nature that u can build...... stay calm and think god given equal efforts in creating u and even ur mom carried u for 9 months than why u feeling u are not beautiful .... u are but u dont want to accept self and believe other eyes.... so please go and see mirror ..its okay to be like u are .....but u have good heart and just have to build courage to fell in love with mirror........ love self dear ...
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