Funny how you can read words (and also hear them for that matter) and it’s like you uttered them yourself, out of your very own heart.
While I know I’m most definitely not dying, I read this a while ago and it sort of stuck.
“No one asks me how I feel“, says Heiner Schmitz. “Because they’re all shit scared. I find it really upsetting the way they desperately avoid the subject, talking about all sorts of other things. Don’t they get it? I’m going to die! That’s all I think about, every second when I’m on my own.”
Don’t they get it?!!! Everyone avoids the topic, or asks about it in the way that they’re just trying to say the right thing. But the reality of how I am… like being stuck in this never-ending nightmare, where you have moments of peace, of happiness even, where you almost think you’ve woken from it, but then some level of reality hits you in the face again. Hard.
Simple, small things – sometimes irrelevant, to anyone else that is. Hit you. Like a brick. Like a super heavy brick. Its not quite dying, but it sure feels like it.
Truth is, when you’re alone. It is all you think about. This thing. That no-one else is feeling around you. That no one can see. Just you. This quiet death of your inner happiness. Every day, a little more.