A mess

Sometimes when someone notices the big scar on my wrist, and I tell them what happened, they look at me with a certain face. A face of empathy or a face of compassion. And they tell me one of these variants: I’m glad you are still alive. I am glad to have met you. I am happy to have you in my life.
I’m starting to see it as a warning sign, that one day our paths will deviate. It is only a matter of time.

The irony is that the scar itself is not anymore the result of extreme suffering. It is the accumulation of people who keep telling me these temporary expressions of gratitude that eventually dissipate in thin air. It is the conditioning of external expressed gratitude followed by abandonment. In my days, I experience life to be a collection of memories or opportunities for lesson or new insights. It feels like the essence of me as a human being is somewhere lost in those qualitative indicators in our social realm. 

When I feel I am the trigger of someone’s pain or suffering, I often start to question myself whether I was meant to be alive still after that day I made an effort to leave life. I would not have contributed to suffering in this world to anyone I have met afterwards. And I wouldn’t have experienced more suffering.

I am tired, in pain. It hurts to feel so much. It hurts to have my heart so open. I feel bad about myself. I tried to do things well and It feels I just messed up everything.
I just don’t want to wake up anymore.
10 okt 2021
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Phoenix, man, 33 jaar
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