11:54pm • Sept. 26, 2017
I hate this Life.
I hate this
fucking life. I hate my life and everything in it. And I mean, everything. Everything that’s happening… everything that’s been going on. I hated this fucked up life of mine. And above all, I hate myself the most. Everything is just going into hell of a repetition and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I swear, I’d give up any moment with just one tap on the shoulder. Everything is just the same. Everything sucks.– To which one day felt exactly like another… Everything is repeating itself. Day after day, week after week, month after month… Damn, even year after year! I am losing my mind and I cannot escape this hell! I’m so tired of this shit. I can’t do this anymore. Everything is going the same and I’m stuck on the same pattern.
I hate this Life? –such a cliché line, I know. But believe me when I say that I know how “cliché” exactly feels like. How frustrating it is? Oh, dear! You have no idea.
I’m so… so tired giving up each day and then trying to be optimistic the next day, because who knows what might happen if I just get at least a little bit hopeful… Besides, it’s what they all say. Hope. “Just Hope”. –It is something they all believe in. And it’s something they all hold on to, — to convince themselves to never give up because there’s that. Yeah, that thing.
And I didn’t know it then. I didn’t know that hope can be lethal. Hope is fatal. Period. I didn’t know that hope will kill you. Hope can kill you, when there’s too much of it. And that Hope, will actually kill you in the end. That it’ll one day turn into this kind of poisonous potion eventually… And while everyday you keep drinking it; trying to fill up your heart and trying to convince your mind… Trying to keep that dream alive. We drank into it. Into the idea that hope was some kind of medicine; a cure, perhaps. To keep our sanity. Insisting that hope will save us.
But hope have saved us.
From ourselves, from our own negations. From our own doubts… and fears, and our own questions. Just so we would shut up, and just Hope, instead. Or maybe we use it as a form of escaping… because we do not have the courage to accept and face what happens but instead prefer to hope for the better, if not for the best. Knowing we, fool people that we are, would accept anything the world tells us to believe. The society could’ve put stones in our mouths and yet, we would’ve swallowed it in the blink of an eye. We believe everything that we hear and see… But in denial to our own feelings. Couldn’t accept what we already feel. Wouldn’t believe all of which we’ve really had experienced.
It had killed us in the most subtle way… In a way that we, ourselves, wouldn’t even recognize at all. Hell, hope is even more cunning than a wolf,– if I say so myself. It was pretty unrecognizable to the point that we couldn’t even understand what was happening. We are blinded by the thought that hope, and only hope would save us. Hope is something we hold onto when there is nothing else that we can do. We subconsciously think that hope will save us, but it won’t. Only Faith, will.
We hope and hope… Until we wake up one day, and realize we’re empty. We simply give up and cling unto the idea of hope because we can no longer do anything. We thought it was okay to hope, and that it’s a normal thing to do because everyone does it. Everyone always hope for the best. Hope for the better. Hope for more. You see, that is our mistake; we put it all into hope so much and forget to do something for ourselves. — In our own. Forgetting that hope can do nothing for you but to keep you positive. To give you something that will fire you up to always keep you warm inside. Maybe the fault is in ours, after all. And not to blame it all out to hope itself. We made ourselves believe. We made ourselves believe so much… in which we, ourselves, had made.
Maybe they were right when they say that everything that’s too much is bad. Because hope has been a drug, for us…– or for me, at least. I took too much of it and got so high. So high that I couldn’t even remember what I did next. Maybe I got into a deep slumber and forgot to move on my feet. Maybe I enjoyed partying so much and forgotten how to go back home. Maybe… maybe it was wrong to hope. Maybe it was wrong for me because I had gone this way; Maybe I should’ve never took dose of that toxic pill of hope each time I was down. Because I never knew it’d only turn out to be like this. I should’ve let myself succumb into doom and let myself burn instead. Maybe it would’ve gone better that way.
But then I hoped because there is nothing else that is left for me to do. I can’t do anything to change it; to reverse my life. And if there is anything else that I can do, that is to hope. To hope that things would get better, somehow.
I hope one day we never have to hope. We only have to believe and then it will happen. But then that’s the thing. Because nothing really happens.