I'll never get to heaven coz I don’t know how. in And here we go.

I’m desperately trying to buy my way into heaven coz I don’t know how to win the good graces to have good things in life.

No amount of good is returning back to me or bringing me any worldly joy. Hoarding money and resources disgusts me even more. Growing up with very little I cherish the precious worldly delights and material comforts I’ve gathered but I hate, I hate, I HATE getting comfortable, allowing myself any happiness, any comfort.

This self-flagellation was pretty much my ethos and I always wondered if other people had the same life too. I always thought there were people like me, born to just serve and be fodder, and there were “other people” who got all the happiness, friends, family. “Other people” had the right to play sports, go to fun places, be happy.

I had none. The only thing not driving me insane was the library that somehow became my sanctuary. No one had a problem with me disappearing with a book for hours.
Learning about the idea of suicide was comforting. Wow, there’s a way out? I can just end it all and not be miserable? Everything just ends? that’d be superb.

I looked into so many ways to end my life and through the magic of the internet I discovered “self-harm”. It was presented to me as a peaceful alternative to alleviating pain and silently dealing with the anger. A cut on the wrist and with the blood the pain bled out too. The sweet release of this awfully euphoric exercise.

I hurt myself to feel calm. It worked. It shouldn’t have worked. But it worked. Took me years to get out of this horrifying addiction.

Here I am
A thousand miles away from you
I understand, I will have to do without you
In the dark, forces run me down
The end, in the corner of my eye

My shortcomings in life weren’t a competition. I wasn’t looking to compete with you and it was frustrating with your need to always win the loss, and mock my “pity party”. It wasn’t a competition. I was lost, unguided, alone, I had to navigate, learn, fall, get up and do everything on my own.

I had to learn the very basics of survival and civility after being brought up in a shitty home with extremely self-indulgent assholes.

We’re all scared to get hurt. It wasn’t a difficult concept to grab, but no, you ALWAYS HAD to get a win out of everything, you had to win the pain too. Your pain mattered, your suffering mattered, mine never did to you.

All I wanted was a hug and you laughed at me. Why? What pleasure did you drive out of depriving me of simple reciprocity.

It was pointed out to me that I take pleasure in reveling in everything life has denied me and some timer later someone else pointed out that unless I had a fetish for being punished, this “lifestyle” was extremely unhealthy.

Where do I take this pain of mine? WHERE?

ہم گُھوم چکے بَستی بَن میں
اِک آس کی پھانس لیے مَن میں
کوئی ساجن ہو، کوئی پیارا ہو
کوئی دیپک ہو، کوئی تارا ہو
جب جیون رات اندھیری ہو
اِک بار کہو تم میری ہو

Every person you hold dear in your life, you develop a new language of love, that’s unique to that person.

You, you and you, I invested so much into all of you, our language developed so well only to be discarded, thrown away. So much toxicity, why were you so corrosive with that crass behavior? Was it worth it?

I’m not comfortable, even when I’m alone. I’m not comfortable in my own skin.

I’m getting closer and closer to completing my bucket list.

And I’ve started to sabotage my own progress, my own dreams. Increasingly.

All I’m doing is delaying the inevitable, all this subterfuge and self-hate is going to lead to somewhere and will have real life consequences.

Why am I so hell bent on destroying what I’ve struggled so much to build?

I have nothing or no one to look forward to.
Everyday is exactly the same, no matter how much I try to crate chaos in my life, all the walls close in and push me in the same corner.
Every single time.

I’m Sisyphus, I wake up every morning, I start pushing this rock uphill, I spend the entire day with this grueling labor, hateful, spiteful, angry, and when I get to the top, I can actually throw the rock over the hill.

But no sense of fulfillment, no closure, no victory.

I wake up the next morning with the rock crushing me and I have to struggle to get my self free before it suffocates me. And start pushing it again, uphill.

Some days I choose to not do it, actively refuse to push the rock.

And the next morning there are two rocks, pining me under them, their weight crumbling my ribs, shattering my spine, I can’t scream, I can’t cry. And I won’t die.

Must push rock.
Must push rock.
Must get rid of rock.
The rock will return the next morning if I go to sleep.

I can’t go to sleep.
But I must sleep.
I can’t keep my eyes open.
I try and I try. I fail. Just like I’ve failed everything else.