dear world, i'm tired.
life is full of defeats
Photo by Neelkamal Deka on Unsplash
this morning has been harsher than most. but ok, let’s post on instagram and scroll through facebook and pretend life has been all aesthetic and dreams, even though the reality is much crueler than that. i need to feel as though i’m not haunted by the many different selves i still yearn to be, as they go further and further from me. i need to feel like i haven’t wasted my days lying in wait for absolutely nothing. because right now everyone tells you to celebrate wins no matter what; life is all about the wins, big or small.
but life is full of defeats too, i think. i have writing drafts left unfinished, pens that dried up in drawers. i have books left to rot. i have hobbies i never started. somehow, all i did in the past years was be alive, and that is supposed to feel enough. i still can’t let go of my innate perfectionism in creating, of my anxieties in sharing what i have. i still feel as lost as i was a decade ago, only now i’m more terrified and hopeless about the world.
i kind of wish my brain would scream “write more junk” and “this ugly art is fine” and “share more of your pretentious drivel of prose to fight against all of this AI noise” instead of “you will never be enough in this sad, lonely world”
life is exhausting, yet somehow we’re all expected to live on as the world burns.
this morning has been harsh, but my daughter looks at me with eyes full of wonder, and i play with her and listen to her laugh, even though wars are happening elsewhere and people are reading less and thinking less and AI is everywhere and i don’t feel like living.