Kim Kardashian wore another revealing dress, scroll.
Discover what fruit are you according to what outfit you pick, scroll. 50 kids
die in Syria, scroll. Scroll, scroll and a little bit more scroll. I stare at
my phone with blurry vision and tired eyes. By now, I want the sweet release of
death or maybe sleep, either is welcome. But neither knocks on my almost
unconscious state to grant me the pleasure of its company. I’m alone in my bed
with my phone. I sometimes wonder if this is how I will die, in the shell of my
own inactivity. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I don’t want to do something it’s
just that I can’t and, as I refresh my Instagram for the billionth time, I sigh
at what I have become. Yet I can’t see it. This half dead person that resides
inside me is going nowhere. When it didn’t resurface for a while, I had hoped,
rather I had prayed that I was finally free. That, somehow, I had managed to
curse it out of my body. But alas, it’s back and it feels naïve that I had
thought that it was ever gone in the first place. In childhood, I used to think
I was possessed. After all, I did show all the symptoms. This wasn’t me; I knew
that; so it had to be someone else inside me, I told myself. Later in life,
when I slowly started realizing that maybe this wasn’t something demonic but
psychological instead, my hatred intensified. I was an unattractive,
unproductive, uninspiring procrastinator and now, somehow, I was depressed too.
Three cheers for me. I don’t mean to sound pessimistic but really I have no
idea where my life is going. I have plans, big plans, for the future that I
never see happening. I have a list of to-do bigger than my Facebook
friend list, still I lay here scrolling. Silently letting life pass me by.
Sometimes I feel like I’m on a train that I didn’t choose to be on. I’m in a
cabin with no windows and I feel like I’m perfectly still but the train is
still moving, faster and faster, without my knowledge. Where it goes, I do not
know. But I’m on it and I can’t get off. I wonder what I’m supposed to do but I
choose the ignore the existence of the train and just keep scrolling. As if my
life’s problems with disappear with each scroll, as if a refresh will grant me
a new life. Of how to solve this, I have not a clue. Really, there is no inspirational
message at the end of this, just a random rant of an obsessive teen.
