My Torment

Some say,

A person dies only once,

I've already died once,

Yet I keep breathing.

When my mother left, a part of me went with her...

I think I lost my soul.

Losing her was the beginning of my nightmare,

A nightmare that never ends,

One that doesn't disappear when I open my eyes.

That's why I couldn't sleep for days,

Why I waited until the first light of dawn.

Everything feels so meaningless and fake...

Masks and real faces have become indistinguishable.

Living a nightmare with my eyes open,

And experiencing something worse when I close them,

Can't be captured in these lines.

It's another kind of feeling,

A torment hard to describe.

For months, I tried to recover,

To get back on my feet and move forward.

I poured my nights into writing,

But I was only running from the truth.

These days, I am definitely not who I used to be.

This is a transformation with no return.

Dilemma has seeped into my veins.

I found meaning in the nights,

And avoided the days.

I'm cold, but at the same time,

I carry on with deep pain inside me,

On a path that's rougher,

More uncertain,

A wanderer with no home to return to.

Amidst all these feelings,

I gave my heart to the most wrong person imaginable,

Let my guard down,

And she struck another blow,

To my heart, whose wounds had yet to heal.

The harder I try to trust people,

The more I regret trusting them.

The conversations around me,

The things people tell me,

They think I'm listening,

But no...

I can't help it, I'm not really there.

I'm battling the carousel of thoughts spinning endlessly in my mind.

I can't stand the things people say to console me either.

"They're in a better place now."

How do you know?

How many times have you been there?

Was the round-trip ticket expensive?

Where was this knowledge granted to you?

If I haven't completely collapsed where I stand,

If I haven't fully lost my sanity,

It's because of my mother.

Her final words to me, her last request, always echo in my mind:

"Take care of yourself.:

I hope she's proud of me.

I am proud to be her child.

I inherited my stubbornness and determination from her.

Otherwise, would I have kept writing these lines for five years despite all the negativity?

The one thing I'm certain of is this:

The old me is gone.

And from the ashes, Dilemma was born.

—Dilemma Obscurely