You know when you get that horrible, sick feeling in the pit of your stomach? That feeling that’s akin to getting butterflies—except, the butterflies are piranhas? And this feeling squirms, and kicks around inside of you until you just want to put your face in your hands and stop existing for one minute—please.
Please.
One minute. At least one goddamn minute—because you’ve been going so hard and the world has been going so fast and you don’t think you can keep up anymore and you just need to STOP. Just for a minute. Please.
And you beg the god of your choice, or whomever you look to for spiritual guidance just for this tiny little break. This insignificantly small vacation. Because in your emotional down pour you have reached a profound state of finality. You are done. Nothing more and nothing less—you are done. With all things, everybody, and the entirety of the universe, you have finished your chapter, sang your song and all you want now, is to sleep. The issue with this is that you can’t just sleep the rest of your life away. You can’t just shrug off every responsibility strapped on your back.
You can’t just stop existing. And part of you doesn’t want to—there’s always that little animalistic need to continue to survive, to keep on doing whatever the hell you’ve been doing your entire life. To keep living. No matter how done you are deep inside you still don’t want to die.
So you ask for a minute. One minute. You beg for it. You grovel. You pray. You do whatever humans do when they’re at their lowest.
And the saddest thing—the saddest thing about asking for a minute off is that you never get it. You never get your minute because the world doesn’t work that way. You can’t fade in and out whenever you feel like it. No matter how much you want to be able to be able to, you can’t stop. You can never stop. Until you die—except that you don’t want to die!
And so, you’re stuck.
Stuck in a world that is meaner than it looks with nothing more to do but to pick your head up out of your hands and begin racing with the rest of the humans again.
And it’s okay that this has to happen to you; it happens to everyone. Everyone has felt like this, or will feel like this, at some point in their lives, and if they say they haven’t, or that they never will, they’re lying to themselves. It makes it okay, with everyone feeling like this, it makes it not weak, it makes it a part of being alive. So don’t hate the world—when you feel like this—and over everything and everyone else, don’t hate yourself.