Hope will be my murderer.

Every day is a search for something that will get me through another day. life doesn’t feel like you are living your best life. it’s an attempt at survival, one day at a time, so that in the end it can be called a life. deep down we know it never was, but we say it for them because that’s the expectation of the people. the body I carry with forced exhaustion feels like a soldier in his own battle, desperately fighting to see tomorrow’s sunlight. I try to keep going, I try to ignore the stones they keep throwing at me. but as I kept my head down, nodding to the pain they were inflicting on me, I didn’t notice the amount of stones that were making it impossible to move forward. I’ve let them destroy too much of what used to be mine, and now I don’t know how to keep going forward. it feels impossible to clear the road in order to see where I have to go now. every stone I push out of the way feels like another coming from behind.

my legs are tired from moving forward. my hands are tired from cleaning up the mess. my brain would like to stop spinning and my heart would like to rest without the bandages that hold it in place. I try to have a look at my achievements so far, but nothing is good enough.
their whispers never leave the back of my mind:

“you do nothing” “you are nothing” “you will continue to be nothing”.

I try to shake it off because the road above me is a bit better, at least in my opinion. at least that’s what I’m trying to tell myself, because I have to go on, I have to, because that’s what I’m meant to do. I try to ignore the holes and the larger stones that I can’t move. I try not to look at the mess. I’m trying to move forward but I have no idea where my legs are taking me.

I don’t know what to do and I don’t know what to think.

what step do I need to take or where do I need to look? am I going to keep my head on the ground or am I going to take my own life into my own hands and start to do what feels right to me and not what they want me to do? what happens if I fall, what happens when the adrenaline starts to wear off and I’m not as confident as I was? what if I fall and I’m too tired to get back on my feet? what if I screw up my last chance? where do I find the motivation or the hope to live another day?what if I never will? what if my weariness of survival ends right here? what if hope is something that I don’t believe in any more, what if hope is something that I start to despise. because for as soon as I do so, there will be no more sunlight for my eyes. hope was the last thing I had, and once hope is gone, there is nothing else to hope for. this is where it all ends. it will be the murderer of my survival.