The Burden

Walking alone through the dark streets, with no destination and no reason—just moving. The day begins the same way it always does now: not with purpose, but with a quiet question—what should I drink today?

Thirty minutes after waking, I’m already getting ready to step out. The routine is mechanical. A short walk to the store, a half bottle of rum in hand, and the first sip before the day has even begun. No food. No pause. Just alcohol filling the empty space where something else should be.

And then the cycle repeats.

Wake up. Drink. Eat a little while drinking. Sleep. Repeat. Again and again—until the card declines.

Somewhere along the way, things started disappearing. First the job. Then health. Then savings. Now there’s only debt—and a quiet awareness of where all this is heading. The strange part is not the loss, but the clarity. I can see the future clearly, and still, I walk straight toward it every day.

Family, goals, purpose—all of it fades into the background. Alcohol becomes the center.

But in the middle of all this decay, something unexpected grew.

Reading.

Thinking.

Somehow, in this broken routine, the mind sharpened. Thoughts became deeper, clearer—almost too clear. I started seeing patterns in people, in society, in the way we live. Conversations turned into debates. Questions turned sharper.

Yet most people don’t understand them.

They call my arguments “shitty,” not because they’ve answered them—but because they can’t. And instead of engaging, they withdraw. Conversations end before they begin.

And sometimes, that hurts.

Because it starts to feel like I’m stuck in a world where people would rather follow than think. A world of partially awake individuals, carrying bodies shaped by expectations they never chose.

People seem deeply concerned about what others think. Their success, their behavior, even their appearance—it all feels predefined. As if life is less about living and more about performing a script written by someone else.

And I don’t know how to follow that script anymore.

It feels like I don’t belong here.

Like I’ve tuned into a different frequency—one that doesn’t match the noise around me. The more I see, the less I connect.

And what amazes me most is this:

People work hard to earn money—which is necessary—but then spend it on things they don’t need, and often don’t even understand. It’s like chasing meaning in objects that were never meant to hold any.

And I stand there, watching it all, wondering—

Am I lost in this world?

Or have I just started seeing it too clearly?