I often contemplate what it would be like to be free. No, I mean truly free. I wonder how one might be when one enters this world for the first time, or when one leaves the mortal plane after being freed from the shackles of this earthly existence. I wouldn’t really know, sadly I have no recollection of how entirely free my heart was when I drew my first breath outside my mothers womb. The moment to draw my last is not quite near.
Just for one day, in this troubled life, I would like put aside every feelings evoked from the experiences of the days gone by and live life anew.
I don’t quite desire the feeling of nothingness, for nothingness is evoked from a feeling of complete loss of faith.
No what I seek for desperately a freedom of a different kind, where my weary heart can but aside everything behind and move on with a renewed sense of life. I feel incredibly sad, I have tried so hard and failed time and again; I wish I could just give up now, leave behind once and for all the remnants of my past, and then move far, far away.
It is a terrible feeling to think and know that everything that you have worked for, tried to get away from, has gotten you back right where you started. I left home when I was seventeen and here I am six years later back in my parents house, sleeping in the same room, on the same bed that I did all those years ago. The stiffness bothered me back then just as much as it does now, yet I have been unable to do anything about it.
I feel so incredibly ashamed, I can never forget the day when dad told me to get away from here and never come back. Six years later, I stand every night at that very same spot, unable to get away. He left a very long time ago, yet I lag behind, unable to escape.
Sometimes I really wish that it was me not him, after all he had far more enthusiasm and faith in life than I could ever muster. He was brilliant and talented and passionate. He taught me the importance of doing what I loved and loving the immense satisfaction derived from doing it. He would disappear for months on a project, living in a tent in some remote jungle, sleeping under the stars and swimming with the fish. I would miss his desperately when he was away, wish he would spend more time at home, but the incredible stories that he brought back with him were worth every minute he was gone. I was so proud and happy that no one else had a dad as fun and adventurous as mine. I dreamed of growing up and being just like him. Brave and strong. Time in all its cruelty took everything away, all that passion, all that zest, all those adventures that never took place. He was always so proud of his strong and healthy physique, yet in his last moments all that remained behind was a bony carcass and a mere cruel jest of the man that he once was.
I wish I could see him just more time, hold him and beg for forgiveness. I tried so damn hard to be like him but I have failed and I’m so desperately sorry for it.
My incredible and catastrophic failure at achieving what I desire the most is incredibly frustrating. I choke each moment on unshed tears trying to gather the last ounce of courage that I have left in me to search for strength to move forward, yet I seem to be spiraling downwards, involuntarily.
I walk around with a forced smile and deceive the world time and again that I am happy to be here. I live, breath and walk a lie.