Warning: Depressing bullshit below. Read at your own risk.
I used to sneak out in the dead of night just to sit on the grass and stare at the stars. I felt so small staring up at all those planets and suns so far away, but I still felt like there was a reason to get up the next day. I was small and insignificant in the view of the universe, but I was important in my own life. I don’t know exactly where I lost that. I look up at the stars now and all I feel is emptiness.
I used to be unafraid to sing and dance and be myself. I used to revel in the music of life; it was my song and I loved every note. Every day was a new day, something to look forward to. I used to dream, used to act out my stories alone in my room, used to play games and play outside. I used to love the feel of sun on my skin as I lay out and just took in the beauty of the world around me.
I used to be friendly and outgoing. I used to be the one to initiate friendships. I used to be the leader, taking charge like a knight going into battle. I didn’t used to care what people thought about me—hell, I never used to even think about it. I used to have fun and not care what anybody thought.
I used to love to learn, to read, to explore. School was something I looked forward to, was where I could laugh and learn and have fun. Books were my drug, and I devoured them like I had been starved my whole life. Even those subjects that I hated most, I still approached with joy. The thrill of learning could overcome any dislike for the subject itself.
I used to think life was worth living, that there was something to look forward to. Every tomorrow was something worth living for, and there was a lifetime of tomorrows stretched out before me. I had dreams and aspirations, and I believed I could achieve them. I was full of love and enthusiasm for myself and for the world, for every day was something to be enjoyed and rejoiced in. Even on the days that weren’t so good, the days where I fucked up and had to pay the consequences, there was a glimmer of hope.
I was a kid, and reveled in that fact. I didn’t constantly wish to be an adult—why would I? Being a kid was so much fun, even if there were downsides.
I used to enjoy life.
Now, I look at the endless tomorrows stretched out in front of me and all I feel is weariness. I see no hope, no light to hold on to and keep me going. The excitement is gone, the music of life has faded away to be replaced with only silence. Crushing, soul-killing silence. It is an effort to get myself out of bed each and every day.
Now, I can barely get myself to read. It is a chore that feels insurmountable. Learning no longer has its thrill—it is a fight with myself to go to class each and every day. I am tired, and that weariness has ripped the joy from something that used to define me. I am tired, and tomorrow is no longer enough to look forward to. I am adrift in a sea of weariness with no land in sight.
I miss that sense of joy. I miss camping in the summers and I miss having nothing to worry about and I miss that sense of freedom. I miss the joy of learning, I miss the confidence I used to have, I miss being able to look forward to each day. I miss staring out at the stars at night, I miss playing Donkey Kong with my dad, I miss playing in the yard for hours on end with my dog. I miss being a kid. And I don’t know how to get that back. I’ve tried. God knows I’ve tried. But I’m running out of options and I don’t know where to turn next. I don’t know how to get back to that sense of wonder, of joy. All I can see now are can’ts—the world is changing and that person I used to be is gone along with the world I used to live in.
I used to enjoy life.