“To Be Or Not To Be”: Spoken by Hamlet, Act 3 Scene 1
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles.
I wake in the morning, everyday, and think “who am i?”. The answer always comes bouncing back with another question,….”I dunno; who do i want to be?”…….”i dunno”, and so it goes on. Right now i don’t want to be; i can’t be; i can’t be me. My computer has been hacked; all privacy snatched away and i’m furious, particularly as i found out that the hacker is a close relative of mine ( or was close but is no longer!).
I have a glowing, hot ball of fire swirling around my stomach, like a bomb primed to explode at any given moment. I feel that i have been violated, yet again, my identity taken away, my skin ripped off, my soul exposed. My relative is as much an abuser as my childhood abusers. I find myself running away from my own identity. I create alias after alias in an angry bid to escape not only my abusers but my very self. But it doesn’t help. I keep coming back to me, and as i said, i don’t want to be me; i don’t want to be at all. I’m totally pissed off because i don’t know who i am now – am i ‘a’ or am i ‘b’, or am i ‘xyz’. Who knows? Who cares? Who gives a flying fuck anyway?
I give in, i crumble; i take a drink and pills to kill the anxiety. I cut my arm, not deeply, but enough to take away the pain. I’ve blown my sobriety…..shit! What a mess this is, what a bloody mess, turning me into a mess too, into the quagmire.
Fuck this life; I’ve had enough
My life has turned out much too rough
Knocked back the drink so blown sobriety
Too much pain and too much anxiety
Just an amoeba floating in the water
My lifespan seems to be getting shorter
Because I choose to abuse my body
My fucking life is just so shoddy
Taken drink and pills to quell the anger
This lot could fill an airplane hangar
Pills for the hurt; drink for the pain
Sanity dripping slowly down the drain
Rationality has gone out the window
Life has become so touch and go
Do I honestly want to be here?
When nothing at all seems very clear?
Confusion reigns and terror too
And that is just the residue
Power and strength have long since gone
Life is really just one big con
Into the quagmire, into this mess
Looking at me, would anyone guess?
I’m just a junkie and on the piss
If I died, would I be missed?