Today, I found one of my old ramblings. Just another thing I needed to get out, and the pen and paper were available. As they usually are. Here, let me give you an excerpt. But do be warned about the distress in my voice:
“Nothing is ever good enough. I’m so tired of trying. Just let me leave this place. At the very least, allow me to sell my soul—anything—so long as it makes this burden lighter, a little easier to carry. And if I’m damned by the end of all this, then so be it. Because what am I doing with my time? Living a life of mediocrity and spending it doing something I’m so painfully average at. Tasting the bitterness of disappointment and rejection every time I sit in front of that damn board […]
That’s quite enough. The rest and a few lines in between is a bit too dark to put here now. But I will admit that there are days when I still feel like this, and there are days when I’m on top of the world. Such is life. Mine is a bit too angst-y. I’m glad though, that my record count for getting through bad days is perfect, if not a little wrecked on some pages.
Still, whenever I read this…
It’s nostalgic—how empty I felt that night.