The Tunnel

The Tunnel. Photo credits: Tracy Eric Milyango
The Tunnel.
Photo credits: Tracy Eric Milyango

I am in a tunnel.
It is dark in here.
Everyday I walk through, I pray that I am nearing the end.
Everyday in this tunnel, my thoughts analyze and re-analyze. And I know one thing for sure.

Sometimes when I am in the tunnel, I just want to quit.
The darkness overbears me and I find myself unable to defeat it.
When the night falls, sin hunts me down, and I fall into it’s arms like easy prey.
That fall haunts me.
I can’t eat. I can’t sleep.
I don’t deserve to do so.
If I am to be honest, the nights in the tunnel are the longest.
Such is the life in the tunnel.

The tunnel to me is a dark place.
A place where I feel trapped, where my emotions have abandoned me.
All emotions but fear.
In the tunnel, I can trust fear, fear is a safe emotion.
The tunnel represents all the times in my life where I felt numb.
It represents my difficulties, my pain, my guilt, my hurts.
The tunnel represents all the times I struggled to see some light, any light.
To see hope.

You have to understand that I am not a genius.
At the most, one would say I am smart on an average level.
I am beautiful, yes, but not strikingly beautiful as the world views beauty.
I am not a leader, despite being the first-born of the family,
Leadership was just not cut out for me.
People have a hard time listening to what I say, and I can’t blame them,
Half the things I say I figured don’t make sense anyway.
I am loved, just about as much as a person needs to be loved.
You know, because I am human being.
But I wouldn’t say that I am loved to the point that someone would catch a bullet for me.
No, not yet.
And why would they? I am just a writer stuck in a metaphoric tunnel.
So don’t get me wrong, the tunnel doesn’t reveal my insecurities. I know about them.
The tunnel makes me aware of them. Constantly.
It is the mental torture that I have to deal with here.
Such is the life in the tunnel.

I have been in the tunnel for so long, I don’t even believe in the light at the end of all this.
But I guess there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
A light that promises an exit that is open-spaced,
A space that is not restricted by dark cylinder walls.
A space outside the tunnel.

Tracy Eric Writes… of the truth behind a writers block and depression.


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