For the past few days, I’d been suffering from–what I call–Writer’s Depression.
I got to a point that I no longer know what I want with my life.
That I was no longer sure if I should pursue on this writing path I’m in.
My real profession is also in vain.
I felt so pathetic and helpless.
I felt so useless even to my family.
That what I earn is never enough for my family.
That I thought of leaving this world for good.
I wished to sleep forever.
But I fought it.
I know those thoughts were not true.
A lot of people cares about me.
I’m in a plateau state of my current profession.
My writing career is only about to start, after I finished polishing this manuscript I’m working on.
Suicide is not an option.
I told myself:
I’m a fighter. I’m not giving up on this. I’ve been on this writing world for 9 long years and I can’t just stop now.
I’m still young. I have a long way to go. There are still a lot of people in this world who likes to read like me.
It’s been a long long time since I composed a poem, my first writing outlet, and I think I’m kind of rusty now but here it goes…
Good or Bad
I feel so useless like I don’t deserve to exist
I feel so hollow like I am nothing but a mist
I feel so broken that I could no longer be fixed
And now, I feel so much unloved that I had been hexed
I know I shouldn’t feel this way but I can’t help it
I’m so confused that I don’t know how to conceal it
I am not sure if that was just a night of mistake
Or you do want me too that you could no longer take
But then, you are someone I could never have and hold
But because of what you did to me, I feel so bold
But in the end, I feel despair eating me away
Now what’s wrong with me? What have we done? What can I say?
I don’t know if I want to cry for something I lost
Or I’ll be elated with pleasure and pain to boast
How could I treat you the same if something happened?
I don’t know if it’s something good or bad in the end…