How One Song About Not Wanting to Live Became My Reason to Keep Going
How One Song About Not Wanting to Live Became My Reason to Keep Going
There is a strange, hollow kind of silence that settles in when something you have poured your entire life into suddenly comes to an end. For nearly twenty years, my business wasn’t just a career; it was my identity, my anchor, and my roadmap for the future. When it began to struggle, needing an investment that simply wasn’t going to materialize to stay afloat, I found myself staring down the barrel of an entirely unplanned reality.
I didn’t know what else I wanted to do. I didn’t know who I was without it. I was scared, vulnerable, and cautiously curious about the person staring back at me in the mirror, a person I hadn’t met yet because the business had always taken up all the space.
Those feelings didn’t just vanish. They churned around in my head, day after day, for an entire year. They sat heavy in my chest, unvoiced and unprocessed, until I finally sat down with a pen and let them bleed onto paper as a poem. I didn’t write it with a melody in mind. I didn’t write it for an audience. I wrote it because if I didn’t get those thoughts out of my head, they were going to consume me entirely.
Months later, after the business had closed and the dust had begun to settle, I rediscovered those old pages. Looking at the raw lines, I realized something important: this wasn’t just a poem. It was the starting point of something real. That was the moment The Buey Project truly began, and it gave birth to the very first song I ever wrote: “I Don’t Wanna Live.”
The Reality of Independent Songwriting and Raw Vulnerability
In the world of mainstream music, everything is often polished until the rough edges disappear. Pop hooks are engineered for radio friendliness, and artists are packaged to fit neatly into designated marketing boxes. But true independent songwriting lives somewhere entirely different. It thrives in the messy, unfiltered spaces of the human experience.
For me, independent songwriting isn’t about chasing charts or trying to fit into a trending genre. It’s about honesty. As an independent artist, my goal isn’t to impress people with technical perfection or commercial sheen; it’s to share something genuine. When you write music from a place of absolute vulnerability, when you strip away the armor and talk about your deepest failures, fears, and dark moments, that is when music actually connects.
When I started shaping alternative rock and atmospheric melodies around those early poems, I didn’t know if anyone would listen. But I knew that if the song wasn’t entirely honest, it wasn’t worth recording.
Putting the Pain into Sound
“I Don’t Wanna Live” doesn’t ease you in gently. It starts hard, hitting you right with the title sung straight away. There’s no buildup, no poetic metaphor to hide behind. It is direct, uncomfortable, and true to what I was feeling in my darkest hours.
I don’t wanna Live
But I can’t bring myself to die
I don’t really know why
Life hits so hard
But you just have to tryI don’t wanna live
But I can’t bring myself to die
Those opening lines capture the exact paradox of deep despair. It’s that grueling space where you are utterly exhausted by the weight of existence, yet some underlying survival instinct, or perhaps just sheer stubbornness, keeps you tethered to the earth. Life hits with a force that knocks the wind out of you, yet every single morning you find yourself waking up and trying again.
Why did I choose such a heavy topic for a debut song? The truth is, I didn’t choose it; it chose me. In alternative rock and indie music, we often celebrate songs that capture triumph, but we don’t talk nearly enough about the grueling middle ground, the moments when you are simply trying to survive the night.
Not Alone in the Quiet
One of the most isolating parts of dealing with mental health struggles or major life upheaval is the illusion that you are the only one going through it. During that difficult year, I spent countless nights staring at my phone screen in the dark, watching short clips, mental health adverts, scrolling through feeds, and feeling completely disconnected while lying right next to the person I love most.
That experience found its way directly into the second verse of the song:
I know with these thoughts I’m not alone
Because I’ve watched all those short films played out on my phone
Just before I go to bed and lay next to my wife
My emotions hold me in my place back on my ownI don’t I don’t I don’t wanna live
But I can’t bring myself to die
That verse resonates deeply because modern life is filled with silent isolation. We sit in crowded rooms or lie beside our partners while our minds are miles away, wrestling with demons nobody else can see. Writing those words was my way of breaking that silence.
The Daily Grind and the Search for Meaning
As the song progresses, it touches on the relentless monotony of everyday survival. When you’re hurting inside, the world doesn’t stop turning. The bills still arrive, responsibilities still demand attention, and the sun still rises whether you’re ready for it or not.
With a tear in my eye and sadness on my mind
I lay still but my minds wandering all the time
It’ll be morning soon and then it’s back to the grindI don’t I don’t I don’t wanna live
But I can’t bring myself to die
Holding emotional pain while preparing to face another ordinary workday, is something countless people experience every single day. We put on a brave face, we go to work, we answer emails, and we carry our private storms inside us.
The song concludes with a universal question that we are often too afraid to voice out loud:
How do I tell someone anyone
That I don’t want to live
But I can’t bring myself to dieI don’t I don’t I don’t wanna live
But I can’t bring myself to die
Moving Forward Through the Music
Writing “I Don’t Wanna Live” didn’t magically fix everything overnight. The struggle of closing a twenty-year chapter and figuring out who I was took time, tears, and a lot of creative exploration. But that song became the foundation for The Buey Project. It proved to me that honesty was the only currency that mattered.
Whether exploring themes of mental health, resilience, loss, or hope, the mission has remained identical: to create music that feels authentic, relatable, and human.
If you are reading this and navigating your own difficult season, whether you’re facing professional burnout, personal loss, or just the heavy weight of everyday existence, please know that you aren’t the only one feeling it. Life hits hard, and it’s okay to admit that. But as those opening lyrics remind me on the days I need it most: life hits so hard, but you just have to try.
That is why I keep writing. And that is why I keep going.