Zombie

What makes the soul die? For me, it is the endless rotation of the mundane. Every day, the same---with nothing much going on in between to keep you sane. Getting stuck in a hole where you can never crawl out, no matter how you struggle, no matter how hard you try to claw through the dirt and stones.

Can you blame me for quitting? When all I have for all my efforts are dirt in my fingernails and grime on my face? Would you have continued trying even when doors incessantly shut in your face? Perhaps you would have carried on. Perhaps you are the brave sort. But you have to know that I'm not. You have to know that I easily give up. All those inspirational quotes circulating online can only do so much. Pep talks from friends feel rehearsed, like they're just going through motions of comforting someone insecure and incompetent. Yes, they help boost morale for a few seconds, but they don't give me the courage I need, the confidence I crave.

Dumbledore said that words are our most inexhaustible source of magic. Unfortunately, I'm a witch who found out that she's a muggle after all---a squib, a disappointment. I'm a dreamer who has woken up to a cold, bucketful of water poured over my head. I'm a fraud. I'm a fool.

But I'll keep doing this foolishness anyway. Because I can't think of any other way to exist.