It's been a while I haven't thought that I wanted to die, and it's weird cause I used to think about it multiple times in an hour.

I am not sure if it's because of the pills or because I think less entirely.

My brain has fallen quiet in a way that makes me feel like a normal person, and I don't like it because this is not who I used to be. Not who I consider myself to be.

I am not sure if identity gets erased with healing. Am I even actually healing? I lost my passion for things. My drive and desire to fight for my own dreams.

I lost the ability to empathize with people to the level l used to. I stopped caring.

Nothing hurts like it used to.

Ain't that good news?

All my emotions are ghosts of how I used to feel and how it was supposed to feel.

I used to dislike it at first, I tried to go against it. Cause it was changing me, empting me, but I no longer had the energy to fight, so I let it go on. And maybe that's how I became 'normal'.

This is how adults are supposed to be like, aren't they?

Think about necessities only. Bills, survival, food , work.
How to get a stable post that will get you to retirement. How to find someone to settle with, because we are getting old and will have no one to take care of us.

Things I never used to think about.

Our parents won't live forever. There won't be anyone to run to when you mostly need someone.
Your body will betray you. There will come a day you won't be able to lift your feet and step out of bed. There will come a day you won't be able to earn your own food. Heck, you won't be able to wear your own clothes. Walk to the bathroom while standing straight, and bring the spoon to your own lips.

And because all those things are inevitable, you have to do your best to find someone even if you don't fully love them. What is love anyway? Caring about someone as a human being will come naturally with time. You will get used to things. You will adapt cause you have to.

That's what adults do.

That's what it takes to live.

I have realised that and it sure is an unpleasant realisation and as a normal person that I now supposedly am, I should be able to do those things.

I was so good at growing up fast,after all, being mature for my age. Why wouldn't I be able to do it now? Act like society needs you to. Keep yourself on your own feet. Solve your own problems. Provide for yourself. I used to do it at six, why can't I do it now?

Art never fed my mouth.
No matter how obsessively I did it, no matter how much of myself and my time, I sacrificed for it.
Art never put a roof over my head. It never pays my hospital bills. It never even endorsed its own expenses.

The internet I use to write on is paid by the sweat of my parents, the clothes I wear, the medicine I take , the food that keeps me alive, the house that gives me shelter.

The papers I draw on, the pens I use, my laptop, tablet, and even the glasses that I have in order to see. All was never won by what I gave my all to. No effort of mine ever paid back.

Nothing I gave ever returned.

But at least I felt it. I was in agonizing pain, but I was. My life was never pleasant, but I had a fire within me,convincing me to keep going, not because I would make it one day but because I had to make it today.

You see, my passion for writing has brought me only the gain of surviving myself. My own mind. It has held me back from spilling my blood, from tearing my skin.
That passion was my lifeline.
My only shield against the darkness l used to fight with every single second of being awake.

My passion was my voice, my addiction,  and my freedom.  The field I could run in, fall in,trust in. Pour in. My way of documenting my soul's existence. 

How could I be without it?

I couldn't even imagine what being normal would be like. I used to believe such people don't even exist, but I am closer to that that I have ever been. But normal doesn't mean good.

Normal isn't easy either.

Even though I haven't thought about dying in a while, I catch myself sometimes so close to actually doing it.

Because I am normal now.

For no reason.
It doesn't hurt anywhere.
I am not thinking of anything.
I am not struggling.
There's nothing that I truly want.
I don't feel anything strongly.
It's not sadness, it's not joy , it's not numbness, it's not anything and it's not nothing.

It's not any of the things it used to be.
It's not painful, and that's what makes it a bit more dangerous.

Like a person struggling in the water, trying not to drown
and a person that is already sinking and they have no strength to oppose it. They don't even feel like they want to be on the surface anyway.

Two different sides one could think but they both end the same. Don't let the splashing fool you.

It's all so whatever.

I used to hate that world.

Now I have become it.

I used to have goals,excuses, something to hang on.

I would make up things if needed.
No matter the failures .
"I have to finish this book. Someone is definitely waiting for it. It's someone's favourite. They said it changed their lives. They said they will never forget"

But they forget.

" I will keep drawing. Maybe one day I can get as good as this x or y artist I admire."

But then you do.

I let people use me because l wanted to help, I wanted to feel happy from their happiness , to be there , the hero, the voice of reason, the one they can lean on, the loyal one, the one that can fix it all.

The evil people pleaser.

The roof, the colons, and the path. The do it all, cause what emotion could I even feel on my own. How do you even feel happy if not because you did something to make someone else happy. Without interactivity, do I even exist? Can I even get perceived?

How can I share their feelings if all I am facing is me?
Who am I, if not the one that will physically ache when seeing someone in pain?

l hate socialising for that sole reason. Too many people are aching, too many emotions. There is so much to carry. There is so much effort to be put to heal that, and I no longer have the strength to.

I don't like the news, I don't like the world,  I don't like humans, cause I used to truly believe that we could change for the better.  That we could do anything together.  That humanity could understand each other. 

Stupid childhood thoughts. Loving humanity is more than it deserves.  But now we just watch people dying, children getting killed and women getting assaulted, and we stay on our couch, scrolling on our screens, cause we are just normal.

That's what normal people do.
Normal people aren't heroes,aren't knights. Their blood doesn't boil enough at the sight of atrocities. Not enough to stand up. Not enough to raise revolutions. Not enough to do anything that 'isn't directly their business '.

I am no hero either. I am far too weak. I am just like the rest.
I couldn't fix it all, I couldn't take everyone's pain away, I couldn't shield anyone from the world.

I am a normal failure,  just like you.

We all got broken.
We all changed.

And I am no longer delusional. I, no longer think that one day will come that my life will change and I know that I don't have the strength to save me so no one will.

I will stay exactly where I am.

Without the passion blazing in my chest.
Without any deep or unique thoughts.
I am not special.
We are all corpses of our dreams.
It's not a tragedy ,it's just life.
You get your shit together, and you go on.
You didn't lose anything. You didn't get hurt more or less than anyone else.
You aren't the first nor the last.
Just live a normal life ...

Yet, I am not sure if I was designed for this.

If all that makes me alive is gone isn't keeping my body , a waste of oxygen.

I am normal.
I have no plans.
No deep desires, no deep thoughts.
There is no energy to push mountains.
No delusions of changing the world.

But that's the definition of a corpse to me.

So we all just wasting oxygen and placing fake dates of death on our tombstone,  for most of us never made it. Our bodies just reached the shore. And just because you are afloat, it doesn't mean you are alive.

And how sad is it to realise how we kill each other to survive.

How we kill the soul to let the body live.

Only to grow old and suffer some more. With trembling bones, fainted breaths and eyes looking at a fireplace that will never lit up again.

I wish I  knew sooner how expensive being normal was going to be, for maybe then I would have wished to have been something else.
For then, maybe I would prefer dying in madness instead of boredom.