I sometimes like to imagine a reality in which there was an unwritten and unspoken method of first-person perspective observation by unnamed third parties; an ability realized by only a select few. I like to imagine myself being watched by an external third party; they would be witnessing my actions (within a limited window of time, usually less than a minute per viewing session) through my eyes.
Usually, the person being observed would be unaware of the perceptual intrudance, but in my mind I always have a sense – like a background, quiet tingling sensation in the back of my mind – of when I’m being observed.
Now, for those observing me, a complete first-person experience of me wasn’t completed for around thirty seconds. When the observing first begins, all the observer can experience is what the other person is seeing; no sound, no smell, no feeling. Then, progressively, each of the aforementioned sensations are assimilated into the observer’s perceptual experience (in the order of: sound, then smell [optional], then finally feeling).
I live a life of quiet desperation and muffled anguish, the two so repressed that no person physically observing me can really tell what’s wrong. That I actually want help, but from someone that that can actually understand me.
I found that someone, but unfortunately I’m unable to talk with her. So I pretend she’s watching me sometimes, so that I can get even a little motivation to pursue the things that once made me so happy and passionate. So that I can fool myself into thinking that her mind still drifts towards me sometimes, even if it doesn’t.
The fact remains, I’m struggling. I’m a pretty resilient person, but struggle with no purpose?
I simply don’t see the point in suffering if it’s not going to lead to anything…better. So I’m having trouble coming up with new reasons to stick around when I know that, as every second passes, I walk farther and farther away from my dreams; but they still seem to have a reason to live, to at very least survive, that I don’t have. I wish I did, it would make things much easier, I think.
Instead, I’m an epileptic 21 year-old introvert who’s mildly agoraphobic and slowly losing his memory and mind. My greatest insecurities are realized, my continued existence is contingent upon the perceived degree of anguish yielded by those closest to me in the event of my premature death.
Anyone want to trade places?
4 comments
I’ve always thought it would be great to have a suicidal-identity-exchange-program where, for 2 weeks, we enter the body of someone else and they get ours. In that 2 weeks you have to do your best to fix their life, knowing that they’re doing the same with yours. I honestly believe it would do a lot of good; I think a lot of our problems are based on lack of clear perspective, and if a fresh soul could come to “clean house” it would set us on the right track.
So yeah, I’ll swap with ya, marine. Be forewarned, you might return only to find that all your friends suddenly avoid you because you got drunk one night and professed your undying love for ABBA. But hey, those are the breaks.
Id like to smoke some of what your smoking! (joking)
Yeah sometimes its hard to find a lasting purpose and suffering sucks.
suffering for long periods of time is very draining on the soul mind and body.
Id like to permanently switch my identity with somebody who is wealthy!!
being broke sucks
Salt: I’ve had the exact same thoughts, and it’s too late. I’ve already gotten wasted and professed my undying love for ABBA (and, far worse, Miley Cyrus).
Phantom: All jokes aside, it was really good weed. But everything in my post is true for me regardless of whatever chemicals may be influencing my mind.
And yes, that would be awesome.