Too Many Questions Poem by Alabh Raj Taru

You are intrigued by something. You try it. You liked doing it. And luckily, you are not bad at doing it. On your good days, you might even think of yourself of being good at it. Eventually, it becomes a hobby.
You continue enjoying it. Somewhere along the way you start working on it. Working on yourself. But not too much. Never too much. You get even better at it. Now you stand out. Just amongst your close friends and circle. But you do stand out. You catch people's eyes a little. And it's enough to make you feel good. It's enough to get you attention, praise even. It makes you happy. Like proper happiness and not just a momentary-distraction-from-problems kind of illusion. You are sure about it. Your mind, which can't get enough of this dopamine, tells you that and makes you believe. Now, it's a passion.
You start devoting most of your time to it now. Either doing it or something related to it. It's almost always in your mind's foreground. People start associating you with it. You have developed habits where you mix your passion with your normal actions. You talk in those terms. Use references that go over people's heads. But they know the context. They know what you're talking about even though they don't and they are used to it. That's how big of a part it has become of your life. Then one day, you see someone else doing it. Someone you don't know. You sense that they are maybe better than you at it. Hoping to prove yourself wrong, you try your skill both with and against the new person. Now, you're sure. They're better than you. It's not starkly visible but you know it. You're jealous. It's supposed to be your thing. You should be the one who's better. So, you work on yourself again. But not too much. Still not too much. The difference wasn't much. So, it didn't take you long to overcome it. Now you're the better one. You're sure of it. And unlike before, the difference is starker. You feel joy, exhilaration, a sense of triumph. But most of all, you feel satisfaction. The insecurity covered with jealousy is gone now. It's become more than a passion for you now. You feel synonymous with it now.
You have moved on with your skill. You want to try it on a bigger and better platform now. You start on comparatively smaller ones. You do well. You hold your ground and do what you've always done. You maintain your style, build up your confidence and continue doing well, feeling well, and enjoy your shifts. Then one day, on another stage, on another big one, probably your biggest yet- you shatter. You fall. You drown. All at once. You try to hold your ground. You can't. You try to maintain your style but the people opposite to you don't let you, or rather, it doesn't work on them. They aren't fazed. They push you around, bully you, thrash you and then throw you off that stage which you thought you could survive and even dared to believe that you'd do good on it.
You lie there. The spot you were thrown at. And you think. What have you been doing all this time? Why were you even doing it? Is it because you love it? You enjoy it? Or is it just because you aren't bad at it? Why did you even start doing it in the first place? Why have you continued doing it? Is it really your passion? Your love? Or is it just something that gave you validation from others? Something which brought you attention and you did it for attention's sake? Did you ever work enough on yourself? Did you always feel so competitive? If yes, then did you really ever enjoy it? Didn't you used to do it for self-satisfaction? Then why is it hurting so much? It's never hurt you. It's always brought you joy. So why are you feeling all this pain now? Was all you did worth it? Did it ever matter? Did it become just a mindless habit at some point instead of a source of joy?
You want to cry. You can't. All you can do is think. You pull at your hair. Your head hurts. Your breath is hot. Your vision is fuzzy. Your body's weak. Your muscles ache. You can't move. So you just lie there. Thinking. You claw inside your brain for answers. You have none. All you have are too many questions.