When the sun sets, I am just me. I wear the same clothing, the same face, the same heart on my sleeve.
Being a zombie is the norm nowadays. People look at you and disregard your unpleasant expression and your unpleasant face. The thing is you may not look like a zombie, but it is not looks that define this intricate race; this race is placed upon those who title themselves as so.
If you feel drained, like the battery in you is running on empty somehow, then you’re probably a zombie. If you move slow, roughly dragging and scraping each foot across the ground as you transport yourself on your God-given stems, then you’re most likely a zombie. If life seems to be hiched to the back of a volkswagon with a flat tire on a rocky road, then I’m assuming you’re a zombie.
I “live” my everyday life like I’ve planned each day in advance. I wake up, clean up, go to school, somewhat learn what is being taught, experience some unexplainable physical pain, return to my safehaven, my home, and work on homework for at least 4 hours…then proceed to eat dinner and ready for bed. This routine is embedded in me, in my roots, in my long term memory.
I can’t stand being a zombie. I’m tired of rushing my free time away in order to patiently spend 3 times as long on a homework assignment. I’m tired of figuring out which parent I’m supposed to reside with for the upcoming holiday. I’m drained from the unnecessary physical pains I suffer from on a daily basis, and most importantly I’m exhausted from trying to please everyone.
Being a zombie meant I’d given up; I no longer had the desire to try any harder than I was required, and I had no yearning to stand out from the others. I quit my passions, I let go of what I loved, and I stopped feeling when I should have.
My facial expression was always a repulsing one, and I could’nt change it much if I tried. My smile was a twitch of the corners of my lips and my hugs were the cold embrace of a vaccant body. I had lost the “pip in my step” and that “sparkle in my eyes”. I drowned out all the love drying me up and I locked myself away every night.
I thought I had reverted back to my natural state; I thought I was human with a new, warm embrace. But, today I looked in the mirror and I noticed something strange. I was wearing my usual mask, but not in the usual way. I looked pale, I looked tired, bored, and ashamed. I looked dead, I felt cold, my head spun, and my stare was blank.
Now don’t tell me I’m fine and I won’t lie and say I’m okay. I just need a vacation…forever…far away. I need a day in the Bahamas, Santa Cruz, and Belgium. I want to go out for sushi, chinese food, and frozen yogurt. I wanna sleep in for a week, do nothing more for 3 days. I just wanna do anything, as long as it’s different from whatever I did today.
If you ever wonder what lies behind my motive to write, here it is. Writing is the door I’ve noticed quite often, but was too afraid to peer into. One day I was granted an ounce of courage, and I opened that door.