Decay

I’ve felt for so long that once my parents were gone, I could finally end it. Now I’m here in this strange place alone, and I can feel that I want to be gone too. They’re not here anymore so why should I even be here? I don’t even know what I’m doing here, both in the sense of what purpose and in the sense of lacking skills and the understanding of seemingly fundamental concepts.

Frequent sentiments of “I’m not needed here” and “everything could chug along just fine without me.” My absence would make no difference. A justification of leaving, of not being here anymore.

During my undergrad years of university, I felt that killing myself was the way to get out with no thought of other options. If I look past death as an option or a solution, the next thing that comes to mind is moving. I don’t want to live here and I’ve felt the same since I first got here. A more quaint city seems more ideal. But how much longer until I can move elsewhere?

There is perhaps a part of me that can’t express itself, that I don’t like to acknowledge, that I’ve frequently neglected and allowed to suffocate. Maybe somewhere more quaint would be a good environment for that part to breathe. Or maybe not and everything would remain the same (except the parking situation hopefully because fuck that annoying stressor).