Killing yourself to live

“How will you focus on your dreams?” he said.

She sat there in confusion pondering what he could have meant by this. “My dreams?” she thought “how does this affect my dreams?”.

Her goals and aspirations, her many ideas, her clouded future, would it all fade by making this life change? The answer is unclear. She thinks, “I will be fine”. Like most of the other twenty-something year olds she knew, she would be fine. She would not turn to crack, and hookerdom. She would be fine.

—

We all do it. Privileged, unprivileged. We all do it. We kill ourselves to live. We put ourselves in certain situations to subconsciously test ourselves. We have an innate desire to prove to ourselves that we are in fact worthy. We can handle the job, or jobs, our hobbies, our ambition, our responsibilities. All the while maintaining relationships, a fashion sense, and proficient knowledge of the “it” TV shows.

We don’t settle. We don’t slow down. And we rarely sleep. We do what we can to get what we want. We work ourselves ragged so we can live a life worth living. We kill ourselves, to live.

—

She looked into her magic ball. As she looked on, asking question after question she came to a conclusion. I can do it, all. She decided she would write, and write, and write some more. She would write like her world depended on it. Because, it did.