I used to write poems about depression, sadness, and self-loathing. There are times where I still do.
I have days where every hour is spent, soaking up knowledge from another person’s existence. I breathe in the same air as them and soak in their presence. They tell me things I’ve never learned, and stories I’ve never heard. We become one in our lives for a moment in time. The 24 hours in a day seem to fly by, yet so much was done. Each part of my day seems like a different day, a different moment a different memory.
Then there are the days, where I work from home or do not dare to leave the house, and let my skin touch the heat or the cold. Days where I only talk to people in the digital world, and I breathe in the air that intoxicates me.
I numb myself from the external world and forget all the days I’ve roamed outside. A pang of guilt is bestowed upon me until I realize like a battery I need to be recharged, refueled.
I am not a waste of space, yet a human being who needs to learn to turn off the outside world, to understand the inside world within my head. I tell myself I’ve come so far, from the identity I was plagued with. Slowly my shell is cracking, and I can see a new world for me beyond the horizon. As afraid as I am, as much as there are times where I loathe myself again, for the first time I am excited to see what the future has in store for me. The dust was so bad before, I could barely breathe, but, now I am alive again watching the dust settle before me.
I can be ignorant, naive, and argumentative. I can go on blaming who raised me, and whom I’ve been around that caused me to consume these traits. Or that I'm just passing on what I’ve been taught, yet there is no excuse for my behaviour.
Learning to be grateful is hard, but with time the more you enjoy what you have, you forget to look for what you want.
This is because you already got it.