Young Writers Society

My childhood was taken away by they immoral vile sovereignty; my future plans were just an impractical figment of my imagination; it was never plausible; an ambition that was enviably bound to sink, nor ever come true. I was born to be bedridden. The world I knew all my life was erased, and soon, it'll come to the point where I can only remember little pieces and fragments of memories.

This makes me ponder my dreaded dismayed concept of the conspiracy that I perceive as concrete factual evidence of existence. By what means exactly can someone tell if they’re cognizant or just caught deeply in a daze? I can’t exactly say I feel a certain thing that proves it, other than the method of having your heart beat. I realize existence is false; no one is able to tangibly subsist. How can you prove you are alive when all you trust in could just be a delusion? A heartbeat is not a sign of living; it claims to show life, but it does not show you are there in actuality; the world we all see may just be a dream. How could anyone tell the difference? You would never be able to notice if everything you see is in fact a hallucination; one of my biggest fears.

What if I'm dreaming right now; vividly deceived; imagining I’m animate, yet in no way knowing my minds genuine disarray? How can I believe in trust that the world is actually here? The love I felt and the care for everyone around me could all be nothing but a futile doze in sight of a fulfilling life to be taken away. How can I know these people around me are mortal? I'll never be able to, even after I learn to accept it. Permanently absorbed in this irrational hypothesis branded from my tarnished amygdale rooted deep in my frontal lobe expanding its endless obsessive compulsive tendencies that depend on my cerebellum sited in the back of my fixated vapid skull to endure this worthless hollow chatter I find infatuating. This could possibly be a hallucination as well; that everything I feel and see is created by myself. Not just consistingprimarilyinthefact that emotions are created by our natural chemicals; nor just what my perspectives deem certain. The proven datum of the chance I’m asleep and this is my creativity building my surroundings.

How can I know the difference between truth and fiction, awake and dreaming? The harmonious filled childhood days, the amazing friends I've made, the people who I've seen on the streets, my parents who taught me how to grow; how can I trust that they exist or if they’re another delusion? I could wake up one day in a different habitation; realizing I was all just a dream. It’s almost slightly comforting as I see a glimpse of hope creating new insight while I philosophy this theory. I comprehend the chance of this hypothesis being accurate. I come to a realization that if I am a different entity only caught in vibrant comatose there is an opportunity to behold a superior soul compared to what I possess. All I ever “feel” is pain and anguish, regret and sorrow, anger and bitterness; I can taste it in my mouth. I feel like I'm going to puke. Yet under no circumstances would I abandon my memories; I hold my occasional bliss dearly secured, compressed secretly despite my nonchalant empty-minded rash exterior.

I need to sleep; I need to explore my mind to find that subconscious memory of the “ignorance is bliss” concept so I can reside in a pleasant residence where I can be habitual. I lay in bed awake, unable to sleep. My mind is racing through thousands of thoughts. I have no grip on reality; I cannot accept humankind for what they’re telling me it truly is; I can’t find it in me to believe. These anxious filled inescapable thoughts have to be a nightmare; when I go to sleep, I will wake up on my soft yet uncomfortable bed in the world I am aware of and can control, surrounded by loved ones to ease my apprehensive tendencies of over analyzing. If only I could fall asleep. Have you ever been in so much pain that you can’t sooth your rapid glare? You can’t keep your eyes shut; as soon as they lock, your pupils frantically jolt about inside of your head until they shoot open; like someone has just woken you up from a bad dream; you look around and you’re not sure if you’re still asleep or if you’re conscious. That’s how I feel; yet I can’t exactly say I feel; moods are only irrational words deemed as a sub-category used to describe what chemicals are releasing into your brain.

As night becomes day, my memories and thoughts cause doubled constant aching through out my whole body. The perpetual feeling like I’m going to vomit. I can feel it coming up; yet nothing ever comes out. It just burns my throat and eats away at my esophagus. It feels like my mind is melting; while my brain receivers are overloaded by images and voices from the past now becoming present. I’m trying to clutch onto something that feels stable; that is proven to exist in actuality, no matter the circumstances; but I have nothing; not even a true form of life that I am aware of. Everything I know is wrong, or is it right? I’m not even sure anymore. How can I be sure of any living organism? Does anyone knows how that feels? It’s resembled in my vexed vision as to the universe crashing down around you; diminishing; as you have no choice but to watch while it dies; yet you can’t shut your eyes though your exhausted mind is running on no fuel. I despise everyone here; nevertheless I do not posses a vendetta; only disappoint. They don’t exist; so why do I bother? I feel no connection or emotion towards anyone; I’m too scared to. In my mind they’re just not real, and that’s how I want it to stay. Not a wink of sleep will I get tonight.