My problem – or perhaps, our problem is that we senselessly overthink about matters. We over think and we can’t stop rambling about these things. It’s better if people were like gadgets, just press the power button and we can make everything stop, reboot ourselves and reset buggy programs.
We have sharp memories, like a knife that slices up peaceful realities. Sometimes, we act like scalpels that cut up the skin to release festering matter. But most of the times, we are idiots. We cut the flesh just for the sake of cutting it, and to see if we still have the ability to feel. And this is the most punishing moment, when you can no longer see the main reason why we got the knife in the first place.
We are like a melodic silent song, one so silent that only us can hear, we move with the imperceptible tune and we sway with the beat. A lovely harmony of natural sounds where our brain willfully harmonizes the notes to craft a beautiful tune, but the sad thing is, no one appreciates it. and once more, we are seen as idiots. An idiot who see reason too late, as I wonder why the music sounded loud.
It’s like a living poetry, and we are like the ink that runs on a brittle parchment, a scroll so old that the very touch of the pen makes the paper crumble, and yet, you can’t write delicately as you need to catch up with the whirlwind thoughts and emotions you want to calm. No care, no patience, no respect for serenity and so we end up destroying the paper where the poetry is supposed to be written.
Then I ask, how can something be so ethereal and immaculate be contaminated by my filthy touch? How can my proximity bring tragedy to helpless people without even exerting effort? Why do I give pain to people without me noticing it? Am I that apathetic? Or is it because I feel too much?
I care too much, that I know. As I stare at the blankness of space, I feel the cold sharp zephyr taking hold of me, pricking my soul with a million needles. As I swim in the vagueness of it all, I can’t help but wonder how little I am in this world. How little do I know about things concerning solitude in as much as I have spent a lot of time with it.
Am I lost in this labyrinthine universe I created? Is this maze I constructed to keep my sanity intact too much for me to solve? Why can’t I find my way back?
There’s no more assuage from eternal promises, but why do I still cling to mine?
Is there still a path that I can follow, or rather, can I still make my own path back?
Can the tears of the night sky still cleanse the soul?
Can the light of the moon still give hope?
waning thoughts, half moon… dying light.
Stop.
Desperation rambling.
Just one more scent from her chaotically structured hair,
Just one more look at the pink-flying-unicorn-dinosaur,
Just one more touch,
Just one final stare…
But you shuddered the last time.
Why can’t you feel as I feel? Why can’t love be possible?
Because…
I am surrounded by people and yet I still feel alone. I am struggling to find my sanctuary and peace in the ‘damned’ now and yet the past is still easier to remember. It’s easier to notice synchronicities – same dreams of bliss, universe conspiring and spontaneous completion of each other’s’ thoughts. Total understanding can be wickedly cruel. Like now, I understand that there’s nothing that I can really do.
I can’t do anything. You have the ideas, the skills, the abilities and people will appreciate that. You will be surrounded by people who will ask you some favors and they will be thankful for that. But once you do something corollary to what they believe in, you will be persecuted. And I can’t do a single fudge about it. So perhaps, just be apathetic and don’t give a fudge. (but that’s not me, I care too much.)
So I let my thoughts wonder in the silence of the night, trying to make a connection of the past, the not-so-distant-past, and the present in a futile attempt to understand myself. Under the magical skies and this enchanting drizzle of rain, I am talking in silence with myself. Like sissyphus, trying to chase the very boulder that I pushed (or sometimes, a boulder that people wants me to chase). And when I finally catch it, it’s always too late – I am a different person already and I don’t recognize myself anymore. In solitude, I usually feel I have been here for too long, but somehow, it’s like – not at all.
What have I done? Where have I gone wrong? Am I going to leave this place? Where am I going? I am always filled with thoughts but my soul is always empty. The paradox of ED: always full and empty at the same time.
I need professional help. It’s no longer me who is in control of myself. It’s my lunatic thoughts.
Don’t think, stop overthinking – that’s what they always say. But it’s easier said than done. I even wonder if there really is a way out of this. It’s impossible to stop thinking, we can re-shift our thinking but that won’t make the reality any less real. It’s like putting all of these in pandora’s box, and once the seal gets broken, all of these thoughts will return with a a more wicked vengeance. Let the pain fade along with the night time – but night times are endless. And if I succeed in letting all of these memories be washed away, what will remain of me?
Nothing.
I just want to be rebooted, reformatted and emptied,
I want to stop being me.
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