Every 8 pm of the day, I willow in sadness. It swallows me, without a warning. I’m able to keep calm on the surface and carry on with my day, and I know that there is no reason for me to be sad. Maybe one or two dissatisfactions but I can fix them with a little effort.
It shreds me, I don’t have physical symptoms but I hope that I do because that in itself would be an escape. I let myself be so, I want to desperately get out of it whilst indulging in the awe that it brings with its magnitude.
Life is to live with issues, I need to stop rationalising. I look at an issue and analyse it like an investment firm would analyse a company filing.
I live in the so called lucidity and get so scared that this equilibrium will break. I am sick of this. When I am high on the pills and crossed with alcohols, when I wet my pillow after a panic over whatever that I do not remember the next morning, I am at least honest.
I once thought I was losing myself when I got drunk frequently at the bars. Now I know I am just throwing myself into meaningless pit holes with all the therapies, anti-depressants and philosophies.
Everybody around me are morons and everything just seems weirdly theatrical and void of meanings. I’ve just been too scare to admit it. I did’t have the balls to live with what was wrong with me, I didn’t have the balls to just come out and say that this world is nothing but a pile of bullshit except for when I’m drunk, high on drugs or fucking someone.
I didn’t have the balls to not live with rationality. I always escaped myself, or at leats attempted so. But the whole time I was my own observer rather than myself. I wish I could change this. I wish I could just know what I feel, what I think, and engage with the world around me from my own perspective. Right, just like those morons.
And if anyone is smart enough to argue that the narrative or the perspective of an observer itself is in fact no different from the more personal perspective that I seemingly want, you’re just like me, living off of those arguments. The thrills, the sense of superiority that comes from the intentional choice of humbleness keep you alive.
I want to get out of this. Unfortunately though, tomorrow I will open my eyes with the same sense of confusion which I will try to fight with the same set of philosophies. I will again experience the same conflicts and the despair that comes with them. It’s oaky, I can’t argue back my agency with my thoughts and words.
We never had agency over our words, only over our conscious decisions on attaching or detaching meanings from them. We are weak, I am weak, I am lost.
Rebel 