All shall pass
Life has always been good, everything went well. At school, I wasn’t the genius but I was doing okay. Life after matric was so perfect, everything fell into place. I went to one of the best universities in the country immediately after graduation I landed my first job. God was truly alive.
After the end of my first contract life became too real. The emotional turmoil I endured during varsity surfaced. I was confused, I wanted answers what had happened, where did I miss it. Has God turned his back on me? What, why me. I didn’t know what to do or who to talk to. Every word I uttered I’d see people rolling their eyes as if I’ve fallen into the culture of pessimists.
I’ve been in this dark room for years now and every day the idea of death seems glamorous. What has happened to the “perfect flawless” life that I had? The difficulties I faced then I was able to overcome, nothing burdened me. How did I suddenly fall into this dark place of complaints and hopelessness?
Every day I’m told to be positive and be hopeful, but the more I’m hopeful it’s the more I slip into this dark room. I’ve fallen back into a life of depression. Faking a smile every day because I’m still optimistic, uNkulunkulu won’t just leave me like that.
Oh, how I hate motivations because they all seem worthless. I hear the words yet they have no impact in my life. Each day I age, I carry the wrinkles of sorrow. I wonder how it would be if I seized to exist.
The dark cloud that hovers over my life has made it so difficult to escape the thoughts of death.
I remember how I use to stop myself from ending my life. How those pills would disappear in seconds, the razor blade that never made it through my skin, how I yearned to purchase a gun and just end this.
Tears every day because this isn’t me but just a temporal darkness. I’ve become so gloomy that the motivator in me died along the way.
The happy thoughts of all is well, this is just a phase, and all shall pass isn’t making sense.
Stripping doesn’t seem so bad after all, I’ll make enough money to pursue my dreams. Oh the so called perfect image I portray in public angers me. People have concluded on their ideal image of me. How I wish I could shout and say not all you see is as it is.
I constantly pray for breaks on my tongue that I shouldn’t utter negative words. That I shouldn’t wear my sorrows on my sleeves. I often pray for hope, a rejuvenation of my dreams. I often pray for optimism and may I not be quick to anger.
This dark cloud has taken over.
I think I’ve become immune to pills.
How I wish to be no more.