This Dreadful Pen

I wrote this when I was depressed. Truly depressed.

As I sit in this pen, watching my former life crumble around me, leaving me to face the path of hate and resentment. Glancing around, I stare in disgust at the pigs, wallowing in their own filth and foolishness, the failure of their lives they cannot realize. And I think, I will never be like them. I will not run fueled by emotion, only by reason. I choose this path now only for my own good, knowing there is no other way to combine what I want and what I need... is this it? Despair and anger shall color this relentless and dull pace I call my life. Drowning, the air being sucked from my throat, till I find I can stand it if I change my mind to nothing more than a zombie. The only time I could really reveal my true self would be alone, in the comfort of privacy. I must suffer through this desert till I find the oasis, away from all evil and harmful things. Alone, happy, safe at last. 

Author's Note

Full opinion.

Reviews

[bluessadmood]

how i agree my friend,how i always loathed the stereotyped life we are made to follow and blind
we start the day ,three meals,go to silly work to get paid to live and eat like pigs ,with no brains
this was never my life ,this was never the way i chose ,but i found so many,i tried to follow suit
i just could not..so there was always this conflict ,as if i was born to a life i never chose
so i thought a lot ,i got isolated more and more..i really wonder is this how you should live
some sixty years that you never liked,and loathed ,it made me sick just to think about it
lovely write..