The Grave

I imagined something else. I would have been somewhere entirely different at this particular moment of time. I would have been in a different time, different space, doing something different. Not worrying about the things I am worrying about because there would be plenty of other things to worry.

 

And yet, here I am… on my bed… lying. Staring at the ceiling. Watching the fan go round and round and round and round and round and round… it doesn’t stop. And I just stare at it. However staring at it isn’t helping anyone except wasting away precious time. So yeah, it does feel nice when I am doing something. It feels that there is hope. It feels that there is a chance. Why not take a chance, you know? Why not appreciate that chance? We have all been through stuff. A lot of things we would like to perhaps not define us and yet it ends up doing exactly that – define us.

 

Working on something even just talking and/or writing feels nice. Feels a departure from not doing anything. Absolutely anything at this point that is a little bit constructive, that is a tiny bit artistic, expressive and I feel fantastic doing it. because the hole I have been digging for myself all my life, the hole I have been stuck in all my life, I feel like doing this, doing something gives me hope, gives me strength to crawl back out. After all this is the hole I made. This is the hole I dug. This is the grave I made for myself. This is the grave I willingly stepped into. This is the grave I closed the door from the inside, staring at its ceiling, thinking what went wrong. Whereas all my defeats and failures are happily filling up that grave, burying me for good! And I am staring at the ceiling, wondering what went wrong.

 

All the while my fingernails try to get out of the grave. The fear… the sheer fear of depending over something… someone… somewhere… Thinking that there is someone out there deciding on your life… I am not talking about some unknown deity. No, this is about me making poor decisions. Giving my life in someone else’ hands. And then standing afar just staring at this person thinking what they might do. My fate, hangs in their balance. Their choices are what I am waiting for. There answers are what I am waiting for. Their results. Their judgements. All the while staring at this ceiling. I can only assume what people outside this grave are doing. What my failures have been. What has happened to the person who was meant to do something with his life? All my gravestone reads is “hear lies”. Not here lies. Not beloved anybody. Hear lies. H-E-A-R L-I-E-S. And it works somehow. The lies I have told myself, the lies I have told others, lies I have told everyone.  Burden of these lies has crushed me. Digging deep into that hole.

 

So yes, doing something gives me hope to come out of it. I know it’s tough for someone to be there in that tiny little grave. All the while staring at the ceiling and thinking what could have been. Everything stops. No round and round and round. I am staring at it and it is staring back at me saying “WHAT??? You chose this.”  Well, you are right buddy. I didn’t mean to but unfortunately the decisions I made were my own and that is why I am here. I chose this.

 

It really hurts to know that there are people out there… People you know. People you have worked alongside with… shared best memories with… They are somewhere else far ahead of you and you are here, stuck in this grave, staring at this ceiling. Waiting… Usually people want to end things on hope. Right now I am sad. I am angry. I am afraid. Oh yes, I am afraid… afraid of the unknown. I don’t know exactly what to do but just because I am doing something, I do feel that even if the climb is far up, I just might make it.