I wrote recently that “Heaven can wait,” however, now I am not so sure. I’ve been a month off my anti-psychotic medication. Lorazapagm and lithium are keeping me alive. But there’s one other thing; writing.
To all my followers, and that’s a short number of people, I am trying. I do t want to be a drugged up zombie that can’t write when he feels as such.
To those followers who feel close to my writing, be warned, these may be the last words I ever broadcast. The urge to lament on my sad life’s story is overwhelming but I will save you all depressing, lengthy story. If it had a title, it would be; Dear Agony.
Listen to the song after you read this, Dear Agony by Breaking Benjamin.
I’ve lived 38 years, and it seconds, I could shatter it all.
Even now I feel at calm and at ease since I wrote this. But the truth is it cannot be the only thing keeping me alive. I’ve put poetry on the back burner for now and am going full ahead with short stories and novels.
I don’t want to die young. I want to grow old with the lady of my dreams, writing poems for my grandchildren on how to be young and strong. Something I never was. But I may remain childless if I go on living. Old, alone, quiet and childless.
To anyone, if toy want me to continue writing and posting on here, please say something either in private message or in the comments.
This is a cry for help people.
Daniel
The version with Lacey Sturm is one of my favorite songs. My wife takes lithium and has done a lot for her. All I can say is don’t feel you need to end a lifetime of wonderful stories over a moment of pain. But I get it. Life is hard. Stick around, friend.
Thank you. When the unreal fades into reality, it becomes near impossible to be happy.
You, my friend, are a treasure. You belong on this earth so you can share your talent and your story with the world.
Do you remember the message I sent you a few weeks ago?
Listen to you. What’s in your heart. The voices you hear will still be there but when you listen to who you are and not who you are supposed to be, that voice learns to become the loudest.
Hope comes in tiny slivers sometimes. You are still here. Thirty eight years is an accomplishment.
Thank you, Adira.
You’re welcome Daniel.