I know venting exists for a reason, but I like seeing my issues swirl around like I’m observing a swarm of spirits gyre around in my head, waiting for a chance to be released into the world. The longer I hold it in, the worse it gets. The worse it gets, the more issues build up, multiplying the initial effect until I can't even speak anymore. Instead, I wander around, looking for something to kick, something to throw... but the only things I can find belong to someone else. So I settle for attempting to break myself instead, throwing myself against walls, and sometimes even punching them so hard my knuckles start bleeding, hoping I could feel something.. Yet despite my hopes, all I get is a lack of pain, or a really dull, unsatisfying sensation. The reason I still refuse to go any further than that is that I cling onto the distant vision of a future, without ever accepting the fact that that's all it is: a vision, a dream which I created to give myself the false hope that everything will be just fine. A mere sight, no physical manifestation whatsoever. So why do I continue to grasp onto the idea of me living a happy life? The idea of me making others happy? I feel like there’s so much I could do and if I end it all here… I might miss something. Maybe I’ll miss the chance to start a family of my own, have a loving wife and children which will carry on the family name for generations. That’s the reason I want to love; Why I scurry to find someone-- anyone-- who can and will feel a certain way towards me. Someone who will stay by my side. Why worry though when I have five siblings? They can surely carry out the one thing I even find purpose in life for. Maybe they’ll get in a very successful relationship, which I’d be happy for, and have the perfect little family while I sit there, contemplating putting my very existence to a halt-- living beside the dumpster behind McDonald’s. But at that point, there's question of if I’d ever be able to get my hands on a gun. Maybe I’d have to find a different means of ending things. Something more painful and less quick. After all, I’d want me to suffer.