Write. I keep telling myself to write. Keep telling myself that I will. That I'm just busy right now. Busy with school. With work. Relationships.Too busy to have time to write.
I used to write. All the time, actually. My thoughts, my feelings. I wrote about my fears, my accomplishments, my mistakes. My life.
I don't write anymore. No, I'm not too busy. I'm lazy. Tired. Burnt out. I wrote for ten years. Poetry, short stories, memoirs, letters. I wrote those things for me, until I didn't. Until one day I realized I was writing because it was expected. Because that's what I was told to do. Because that's what they wanted. Not what I wanted.
What I want doesn't matter. Not anymore. I'm trapped in a life that isn't even my own. It's the result of others' hopes and dreams. They created this life I live. I do what I am told, what they expect me to do. I do not question aloud, do not say no. I can't. Not unless I want to become a disappointment. Another dream that did not work out. A failure.
I want to be happy. I make others happy instead. I pretend their happiness is equivalent to my own. I let them live vicariously through me. I do not live. Not really. This life is not mine. It's theirs.
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This is how I feel 99% of the time.
ReplyDeleteLife is too short to be living for others. You need focus on making yourself happy before you ever worry about others. I know how hard that is for you, because I have known you for years. You are the person that can be having a complete breakdown and letting other people cry on your shoulder. Love you Kristan, and keep your head up. I know we don't talk much and our plans to get together and catch up never pan out, but no matter what,you can always vent to me if you need to!!
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