I like to suffer. And I seek out adversity just to feel something. I don’t succeed because I don’t want to. I’d rather embrace the sensation of failure than reach a summit of success only to look below and realize the “summit” does not elevate over the tragedy that is our fate. There is no point in accomplishing something if it ultimately carries no significance.
Nothing matters. This truth paralyzes me. It strips me of passion needed to complete even simple tasks. What do I hope to get out of my life that triumphs over others by having this perspective? If nothing matters, then why does it matter if I continue to look at life as meaningless? Why is it so important to me that I see things the way they are? Am I even seeing things the way they are?
This may as well be another illusion. A part of me likes to suffer. It is easier to suffer. To let the world bully me and to deem myself helpless. Because I am. And I’m fucking bitter about it. I resent my own life.
The thing is, is that I can’t get revenge on anyone or anything. I can’t scream at the culprit, at the person responsible for putting me through this hell. And I’m pissed. Looking for answers where there are none. Looking for someone to tell me the right way to live my life but there is no one with that credibility. No one right way to live. And what is “right” for that matter? I look for the right interpretation of “right” and how do I know my interpretation of “right” is right? This is so stupid. There are no answers.
I don’t even know what I’m doing here. And everyone around me seems so sure, so unequivocally certain that what they’re doing is important. I can never feel like that again. I miss that feeling.
My mind is like a magic eight ball…and I shake my thoughts, hoping that they reveal a clear, fulfilling path. But the thing is… is my mind is like a magic eight ball. The message that shows up is completely random, and it does not depend on the questions I ask it.
If I ask the ball the same question several times, each time shaking it once more, each time I will be fed a different answer: no, yes, maybe, try again later, in your dreams, do it, don’t do it, forget about it. All of these answers have the potential to asses a single input. I feel as though in every situation I am guided by a perspective that is as partial and misleading as the answers that a magic eight ball provides us with. And yet all of my actions, every single one, relies upon such assessments.
My thoughts…they are so powerful. They are the only thing that matters, however rapidly changing. Five months ago, they are what condemned my every action, what scorned me for my flaws, what bullied me into wishful suicide, what brought me to my knees…begging to be gifted a relief…begging to be handed the happiness that every person deserves. The origin of these thoughts, my reason, is the same source that motivated me to persevere. These thoughts–later– saw logic in treating myself nicely, in wanting to witness the beautiful fortuities in life, in wanting for myself what I crave for others to have. Logic in peaceful acceptance and in making my actions meaningful, however minute in appraisal.
The mind that produced thoughts of self-destruction is the same mind that now seeks revitalization. And the only thing that blossoms such a change is my thoughts…shaken up…revealing an alternative pathway. My magic eight ball gave me a random answer and I acted on it. And I got lucky. It is frighteningly that simple
Oct 7, 2012
I just want to go to bed
to numb my pain and stymie my worry
to relieve myself of regret for just one moment
even if it means escaping into an unrealistic serenity–
at least I’m away from feeling,
from a distress that anchors my soul
But once my eyes open, reality will rush in, saturating the dream world that I thought for a second was my own. Why are we so fearful of the future? Of what we cannot control? I want to pause, rewind, and tell myself : I have no reason to be doubtful of what is to come– I have found ways to deal with every disappointment. And I will continue to do so. I am afraid of facing a misfortune that I cannot cope with. Surely this will come. In the mean time, my paranoia is preventing me from appreciating the uniqueness of good feeling.
Oct 28, 2012
Screw this absurdity that all of us are thrown into whether we realize it or not. Unfortunately for me, I have realized it. I really don’t want to forget this dream I had that allowed me to, for once, let my fear of death and of eternity envelope me without instilling panic. In my dream, despite being engulfed in another world that obfuscates reality, my fear is real. I know death is coming and I feel it nearing. Emotions flood. My animal instincts fear the cessation of power, of control– of an abating heart and of a final breathless sigh. Suddenly it is not death that I fear but what my death will bring onto others, onto my family.
This awareness severs a deeper , more horrifying wound; I am more scared of this than the termination of my consciousness. The termination of my consciousness. A state in which I have no memory of the past, no awareness of the present, no expectations of the future. No feeling, no thoughts. My vision is slowly overtaken by a blinding light. Though my fear is malignant and inescapable, hope finds me. Acceptance finds me. I am extricated free and brought to peace. An understanding that within a few seconds I will feel nothing at all—a place where fear can never find me again, a dark corner of existence in which I will not be aware that I have even lived. I will not be aware at all. Fear will not find me here.
Dec 28, 2009
I look at my life in its entirety and I am only disgusted with my choices and my circumstance. I just wish there was one answer. One complete and substantial answer to my problems—or merely a sign, a guide. But there is nothing… only a dead end, a disappointment, a longing that is ubiquitous no matter how many things go right for me. I am so terrified of what lies ahead. Defining decisions that I will be forced to make eventually and I am not prepared. I am nearly 17 and I reflect back on my life and cannot make out of it a conclusive meaning–a crucial characteristic that I have that will take me somewhere in life. I am honest—at times brutally—and caring. I care about people and decisions that others do not. I see a person suffering and it somehow becomes my problem, my suffering. I look around as people scoff at a persons failure and I do not see the reasoning behind their vilification. Why would you want to ridicule a person who is already under disparagement? Perhaps this is my defining characteristic—compassion. I instinctively, and without hesitation, attempt to understand the complications others are experiencing ; it is second nature for me to put myself in others places and to act accordingly.
I am nearly 17 and yet I feel more lost than I have ever been. I look ahead, ahead to nothing. No dreams, or ambitions. Every time I chase after something I succeed at I end up surrendering to the possibility of failure. Every time. My life is an accumulation of paths covered in retraced steps. There are several paths, but each one leads to a single stop light