the Foundation

I find myself stuck, readers. Although, I don’t feel like my body is fully submerged in the mucky nature of living. I feel like I’m suspended within the air. Just above the ground. At 25 I am drawn to the understanding that I just so happen to be. I don’t feel rooted in places or people and I certainly don’t feel rooted in the experiences I’ve had. Life just so happens to be and honestly it’s a constant feeling of not knowing why exactly it’s happening to me.

Was bad luck assigned specifically to my life? Perpetual victim-hood? Or should I indulge in the idea of it all being for the sake of something significant?

Having faith or hope has no worth. Life’s guarantee is the absence of it. I want to make it worthwhile but what tools do I have? It’s not just external factors that infringe on my livelihood. It’s what goes on behind these eyes of mine. It’s the devastation of my soul and the residual left by those who chose to give said soul a chance. I blame them. They didn’t have the tools either. I can’t be too mad though. Their youth and vulnerability surpassed mine. They were thrust into circumstances beyond their means. Children came from infantile bases. New lives came from individuals who if given the chance, deserved a shot at their own childhoods again.

It’s evident the script needed to be rewritten for the sake of the souls who were borne of theirs.

Can I dare to dream beyond the words I write?

I guess purpose lays amongst the mystery of what’s unexplored. The unknown always becomes known at some stage. History allows for the answers to be found. But is my fate sealed because of the past? If all is determined based on all that came before me, then why should I invest in trying to redefine it?

I adorn myself with the fingerprints of whatever’s moulded me. Every hand in my life has shaped my conscience. I’ve watched it happen.

Regrouping facilitated further mishaps along the way. I was knocked about too often. Shattered before the glue that bound me together became immovable. I slipped through the cracks of what has been promised to everyone but the unfortunate few.

When someone has afflictions of the mind body and soul, how can you rectify that all at once? The thing is, I’m not even imperfectly whole. You know those people with redeemable hearts who defy the odds? That won’t be me.

I’ve burdened myself with unshakable debts to the world around me. The only way it’ll stop is if I disappear. I have others to think of but in doing so, I’m eventually lost in the equation. If continuing down the doomed and dreaded path means that others won’t be hurt, then I hate to be one to say it, readers. The path isn’t endless.

Do I hold on to the hope that’s unworthy of the heartbreak that’ll surely follow it?