Over twenty years into my life I find myself asking, Is Life Really Worth Living? Looking back at my past breaks my heart, the present is not being merciful and the more I try to contemplate my future the more it eludes me. My life has been just an interminable experience of juggling obsessions.
Sometimes I share stories about my broken past for which if I told you the half we’d both break down and cry. That’s not the sad part; the sad part is that I do this to purge my grievances about life and offer some sort of excuse for my shortcomings for which there’s no compensation. Life’s problems do, however, pile up on me so often and so hard that I’d say with a clean conscience that I’d rather be dead than alive.
Actually, for the first time in my life I realized how easy it would have been if I had just toppled over to my kingdom come when I was on the rooftop of my hostel this other day. I’m not suicidal- I don’t think so; I’m just saying that I now get why someone would kill himself.
The time interval between my major depressive episodes continues to narrow. So much for trying not to forfeit my scholarship in a foreign country where the stench of solitude takes its toll even from amongst the natives themselves. All for what, the Moon Experience? Yeah? Even if I were to get there, I know that the moon of everyone’s dreams is all craters and vacuum.
I have always known that life is based in the turn of a wheel, I just believed that I could learn to spin it right.