Creative Writing Piece

We did a writing exercise in my creative writing class a couple weeks ago in which we were to completely ignore the rules and write just one big sentence – experiment with pacing and such.  I, as is common, wrote on my experiences with depression and self harm.  So you know up front not to read it if it makes you uncomfortable.  I think there’s a couple of minor language things too, but I’d love to share it with you all.

One, two, one, two, one, two, the walk of zombies had become my own, the life of the undead, hearing, but not listening, breathing, but not living, seeing, but not knowing, the false reality, the sense that nothing was truly there except the weight, the effort and strength it took to walk despite the fact that my body wanted to just lay back down and sleep the slumber of eternity, but it was unable to do so, society said it was so, that it’s all in my head, that I have a choice in whether or not I succumb to the zombie walk, as if I can ignore the weight, the heavy weight, the pressure of the entire world on my too skinny, malnourished body, that is the only reality I know, nothing else is important, not eating, not sleeping, and if I let go then I’ll be gone, and that would be too selfish an act for me to consider it, too much guilt heaped upon my small shoulders, too much to bear for someone already consumed by the guilt caused by the day to day living, by my own breathing, at the complaints always ready to fall from my lips as I tried to cope with the zombie walk, one, two, one, two, one two, I couldn’t stand it anymore, couldn’t take another day as each second adds another pound to the camel on my back, at a steady pace of one, two, one, two, one, two, the responsibilities I have, the work to be done, the ability to take care of my body that I no longer gave a shit about, because all that was real was one, two, one, two, one, two, and there’s no real life to that, no real life to the zombie walk, because I was already dead, but still obligated to live, because other people wished it so, because everybody else saw something I didn’t, something to care about, something worth keeping, and nobody would let me go, and I had no way to understand, no way to comprehend anything but the zombie walk, one, two, one, two, one, two,  how could I understand, how can I breathe, how can I live, I’m not a miracle worker, I can’t call back the dead, I can’t cleanse the leper, I can’t cause the lame to walk, all I can do is one, two, one, two, one, two, caring too much, one, two, one, two, one, two, not caring enough, one, two, one, two, one, two, who am I to take from Hades another soul much overdue, who am I to claim my life when there’s nothing left for me but one, two, one, two, one, two, the steady beat as I walk the zombie walk and breathe the zombie air, one, two, one, two, one, two who am I to fight the guilt, to make the choice I do not wish for, the continuing pace of one, two, one, two, one two, what else do people see in this land where nothing breathes but one, two, one, two, one, two.

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