I used to read all those biopics and watch those movies when I was a midget, still am, but its okay, determining the struggle of ‘self war’ and I always chuckled on the idea of fighting myself, it was honestly unusually hilarious for me to even give it a thought of fighting me, I mean whaaa? Do I have to hit myself or gotta curse my own gut out or what? Obviously I was a fascinated child with fairytales and demons and flowers altogether jumping in my then-little brain, okay, still is, little brain.
Now that I know how is it to fight yourself, fight your good, fight your bad, fight your everything, just because that sense of hatred for yourself would never leave your side, just like a shadow, flying behind.
Sometimes, I wonder if I could ever be a good human, good people do not envy their mates, I remember wishing good for everybody I knew and everybody I did not. I remember never regretting anything for whatever my life turned out to be also I remember being a sport, I remember being happy.
Happy? Is happy’ something like butterflies? Something like colours? Or just satisfaction? Or just something that I always deserved? Or happy is just good experiences? Happiness is like to feel the beauty of the trees while you listen to some ed-sheeran music, is it?
Well I can never define happy or happiness, mybe just because it’s been years that it knocked my black-walled-door. Maybe happiness seeks colourful doors instead, maybe? Umm yes maybe.
When I sit at a corner, just wondering, something or hay-waaya anything, was any of this my fault? The accident? The negativity? The benchmarks? The expectations? The choices? The mollest? The heartbreak? The circumstances? The give up? The self harm? The etc? Ever?
I have questions all over my head, I have answers not even close my poor brains’
And this is not a story.