"Were you struck by lightning of indecision?"
"Silence, Silence, Silence"
"I don't know," I replied angrily.
"You are so naive. You don't know anything about life—you have no purpose, lost and shattered like a fragile glass."
Reality came crashing down on me once again, quieting me.These gossips do appear to never arrive. At any cost, these phrases have been putting so much pressure on me, making me tight. "Was I cursed?" For sure, I am. By whom? By myself.
I am envious of people who can visualize
themselves in the future.I saw them, these suavely refined beings, their lives are vivid, each step leading to the next. Their talents bloomed effortlessly, skills honed, achievements accumulating like jewels. Their futures, spun through with desire and purpose, seemed not only assured, but almost predestined. A bitter, familiar resentment, sharp and nagging, gnawed in my stomach. It was more than admiration; it was a deep, hurting sense of incompleteness, a dark contrast to the confusing, ill-defined landscape of my own life.
They were the fortunate ones, weren't they? The ones who knew. They possessed an inner compass, a guiding star that lit their path, leading them surely to their destinies. I, on the other hand, was a ship without a rudder, tossed about on the turbulent seas of uncertainty.
How many times had I heard it? The kind words, the positive affirmations that felt heavier than a blessing. "You're talented," they'd tell me, their voices spiraling with an assurance I didn't understand, a conviction that seemed unreal and out of reach. "You have an illustrious future." Illustrious. The word mocked, a jeering Whispers against the empty doubt inside me. Better than average, maybe. But never quite soaring to the heights of real greatness. Always in between, neither special nor average. Just… being. A frustrating, torturous in-between, where potential was never realized, dreams slumbered, and aspirations slipped from fingers.
Pressure built, a suffocating weight on my chest, constricting my breath, robbing even the smallest of successes of their pleasure.
My path? A prickly, twisted thick thicket with no discernible track, a labyrinth of doubt and uncertainty.

My destination? A fuzzy, indistinct shape on the horizon, a mirage dancing in the haze of uncertainty. The whispers became louder, a continuing churn of doubt and blame, a commentary in motion on my turmoil. The doubt chewed, a nagging, insidious worm tunneling into my soul, consuming my insecurities, leaching me of all content and vigor. What was to come for me? The question had not been answered, haunting each conscious moment, a persistent shadow that clung to me and refused to depart. I was alone, a single ship on the ocean of existence, with no navigation, no direction, no even flicker of hope. The open endlessness of the unknown stretched out before me, terrifying and expansive, an awe-inspiring fear that gripped me deep with a profound sense of terror and isolation. The weight of unvoiced responsibilities hung heavy and crushing, threatening to bury me under its suffocating strength. And in the silence, the unspoken question echoed back, a nagging reminder of my own unsettling and profound uncertainty.
Reference
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