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Writer's pictureMike

Head Case

2.16.19


As I lie on the floor staring at the ceiling, I sulk for no reason with my head on a pillow.


I look to my left and there’s my window, outside is the balcony with a view. It’s everything I could dream of.

Still, I feel empty & scared no matter the season.


Surrounded by love, maybe too much, I tell myself — yeah that’s the reason.


I’d answer back in my own head: Am i just being ungrateful?


I feel all the guilt and unworthiness. I become more shameful.


Flawed but with the wherewithal, I know I’m not a bad person. Not at all.


So why feel all of this? I ask myself: what the hell is wrong with me?


Thousands of hours I have spent serial thinking of how this came to be.


I wish I’d take the easy way out, that I have these personal issues I was born with — A life sentence I am forced to deal with.


I am distant from all, even to the people dearest to me who have been nothing but amazing. They never mind.

I hide in my aloofness, built a entire castle wall in this head case of mine.


So outside, I laugh & I smile. Dont I look one of a kind?


I can never get out of my own way.

With all the self loath and self hate, I sometimes pray: please god, throw me a hail mary.


But no, I dont engage. I get in the way.


A lifetime of self sabotage has taught me to believe in mirages and not miracles — the new Andrew Wiggins.


I cannot help but think that life has dealt me a near perfect hand.


How am I turning this into a bust?

The answer escapes me, an answer that they say can be found anywhere.


Until then I shall manage, looking only slightly worse for wear.


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