I just caved and wrote to the wrong person.
It had been a while, but i know that writing is at best futile, and at worst, potentially problem-causing.
But just the other day, i had a series of “seemingly connected experiences,” which resulted in… memories, thoughts, feelings i just couldn’t shake, and they wanted control… and i lost that battle. Maybe i forfeited. Maybe i hate my vulnerability so much that i lash out at any little thing that might expose or exploit it. When something is going to hit you where it hurts, the only “right way” to react, is to “go all in,” and either minimize the impact, or sacrifice for counter-strike positioning. I guess i felt like it was too late to defend, so i might as well run with it and… in this case, say what i needed to say, since we’re not talking about actual combat.
Either way, i “couldn’t resist,” and words happened. Immediately i felt like a relapsing addict. I didn’t even get to “enjoy” the feeling of knowing i had expressed what i needed, to the right (only) audience. No, just the “how long will i last this time…” and “how long will the paranoia last, before i can check my email without anxiety…”
People say words are powerful, but really they’re not. They’re only really powerful as a catalyst for events that are already likely to occur.
I’ve noticed that “bad words,” or “harsh words,” are far more likely to be interpreted as “true,” or “believed,” whereas “good words” are often doubted or disregarded. It seems that the typical audience prefers to give power to negative words, or perhaps, to infer negative meaning, when the intent is not completely unambiguous. Lots of people tend to take words the wrong way, when that wrong way is available.
Anyway… it feels like a relapse. Even though writing doesn’t give me any sort of “high,” and really doesn’t relieve any tension. It doesn’t solve a damn thing, especially when what i write is disregarded, and what the audience wants to think, is substituted for my intended meaning, instead.
I wrote to the person who “stole” music from me. I’ll skip the explanation and simply state that this is a big deal. This is a huge problem for me, and i can’t fix it.
Part of the reason i embraced my musical gift at such an early age, is that music, unlike words, does not require a specific meaning. Music allows a feeling to be expressed, without perfectly eloquent verbalization. A note sounds the same in every language. Music “speaks” in ways, and conveys things that words simply cannot.
I felt like music freed me from that whole “language” construct, and allowed expression to bypass that typical linguistic translation/interpretation barrier, although i realize that music is largely about interpretation, as well.
But now… i feel like i’m stuck with just words, as the only tools available, through which to express what can only be conveyed musically. What i once found so… spiritually moving, in music… now feels like… you know what, i can’t even bring myself to describe it. It’s just terrible. Nails on a chalk-board terrible. I can’t stand it. Even the most mellow and supposedly soothing sounds, just send me to a horrible place, where all i want is Out, and Silence.
Before this happened to me, i didn’t know it was possible for someone to ruin Music for me. I didn’t know that was something i could lose. I miss it, and i’m angry about it. I want it back, and i’ve tried, but it’s been years, and i just… can’t. I have this crazy involuntary reaction to anything musical, and i can’t handle it. Oddly enough, i’ve recently been playing The Sims and SimCity, and the music there hasn’t bothered me. That of SimCity is thoroughly hypnotizing. It’s like “oh, i’m gonna play and work on my city for a bit… OH, it’s DAWN!” Weird right? Yeah. I know.
I guess the only reason i’m sharing this is because i feel ashamed for attempting to express things to someone who does not appreciate them.
It’s like battling an addiction that never goes away. It’s constant, consistent, perpetual… and all i get out of it is the onerous task of practicing restraint, and refraining from expressing what another won’t understand, as if i’m the villain, and not the victim. I’m definitely not just “playing” the victim, in this. I am the only one who has any consequence, and it’s a life sentence of something i can’t maintain, didn’t earn, and don’t deserve. It’s completely unfair, and disproportionately harsh. But that’s not to say i expect the world to be fair. I just can’t get past how in the world i managed to encounter this degree of unfairness. I must have had a gaping hole in my heuristics… and then encountered someone who intended to exploit that vulnerability. And that is the key here: intent to exploit. I am completely certain that the evidence at hand, does in fact indicate this, quite clearly. At this point, denials are insulting. It’s like saying fire is cold, or water is dry. But i know fire is hot and water is wet. You can’t tell me otherwise, unless you want to look like a fool.
I hope that “forgetting pill” becomes available, while i’m around to try it. I’d trade like half my memories, and risk possible brain damage, just to forget this one person. The memories are toxic to me, and i don’t know how to forget… especially when what i want to forget, is constantly in my face, with countless reminders everywhere i look, everywhere i go, in every moment of all of my days.
Thankfully, my dreams are relatively safe, and rarely intruded. I rarely even remember having dreams… or, i am dreaming of a deep, dark, infinite void, in which i am not myself, or even aware of existing. It’s almost like drifting, disembodied, through the cosmos, aware of limited perception, but not as “me.” Just a perspective floating in space, completely disconnected from all of this misery.
Speaking of dreams… that’s about how i dreamed, when i slept for… idek how long, maybe 10+ hours, and woke up feeling strange, and wondering: is any of this even real?
As someone who almost never questions the reality of reality, i had this strange, surreal feeling, and the thought occurred to me.
It sure seems real… and it’s probably just my mind breaking. With all the prolonged psychological torment i’ve endured, it’s bound to happen eventually.
Whether it’s “really real,” doesn’t really matter, because even if it isn’t, i’m stuck here anyway. And if it is “really real,” as i usually feel quite certain that it is… then it’s not a question that needs asking.
All i really need to know, is that “this” is as real as anything i’ve ever known, has ever been.
Perhaps my senses “embellish” reality a bit, sometimes. Maybe my senses tell me that it’s “more real” than it actually is.
Maybe i need to try to just be an animal like everyone else. Maybe i just can’t. Maybe that’s the real problem.