Do you ever just wonder if you'll be able to make it?

Like, if you're going to survive this thing called life?

Sometimes you're doing fine and you actually feel that abnormal feeling others refer to as "happiness;" and then suddenly it's 3 o'clock in the morning, you can't sleep, and you begin to question if you're going to be able to live.

To survive, to push through, to survive.

And it seems next to impossible that you will.

Live, that is.

And then the existential crisis begins [again].
This vicious cycle.
Of experience life, of having a clear mind, of feeling happy enough that you forget the sadness is there.
But then in the early hours of the morning when the rest of the world is asleep, but your mind is awake and racing with thoughts, you remember the sadness.
Though it's not just your normal sadness.
Although it is.
It's your normal sadness in a vengeful state.
Deciding to get back to you for feeling happy - because you, of all people, don't deserve to be happy.
That's not a thing.
And so it breaks out from the grave in which happiness buried it.
That sadness claws its way to the surface - angrily - and hunts you down.
Scratching, clawing, biting you in retaliation for trying to be rid of it.
Tying itself up in your mind, closing the handcuff link between it and you and throwing away the key.
As a reminder that it will always be around, always hunt you down, never fully letting you have peace of mind.

And you continue to stay awake.
Sinking, sinking, sinking.
Deeper and deeper and deeper until you're so far under the surface, there's no chance for you to break above to gasp for air.
So you open your mouth and gasp anyway, hoping that you'll magically appear above the surface.
But no such luck.
None whatsoever.
Instead you gasp in a lung-full of that sadness and it consumes you.

You drown in it.

And you realise there's no way to escape.
No hope to ever truly be free of it.
No relief from the darkness until the ultimate darkness consumes you.


...Death.