This life, this world, so empty.
I used to think I was the flaw, that there is something wrong with my vision.
Yet now……. my vision is all I have. Yet my eyes lie.
I ask others what is of value, how can I fill the emptiness. They tell me about power, intelligence, wealth. Yet, I have had some measure of all these things, and the emptiness remained.
I just want to stop pretending. Stop lying that I care about petty things. I don’t care. Not that I don’t care about anything, I just don’t care about the things that I should.
I don’t care about money, I suppose either because I have enough, or I don’t see how the massive amounts needed to buy the things that interest me would be piled up. When I make money, I feel compelled to spend it to sooth my irritation from the waste of time. Such the futility of the economic reality.
I’m amassing greater wealth in terms of relationships, intelligence and material gains. Yet, satisfaction eludes me. My doctors give me drugs that allow me to put off an air of being at ease, as if I feel great.
There is a difficult to pull down spirit in me that is above my station. I long for things which I know very well I have no place wanting. The only people who think I could have such things have given themselves over to the flattery of imagining a personal God who is not only capable of anything, but also willing to do anything for those he “loves”
Quote Vonnegut:
A Lover is a liar
To himself he lies
The truthful are loveless
like oysters their eyes
So when I attempt to love others, whom am I lying to? Myself, certainly, to imagine such a task is possible by my power alone. Them too though. I try not to tell people, but to just execute my will by my actions. I am not succeeding. My resources are low, and the kindness of others is a place devoid of comfort or hope.
There must be something. Just as even in the desert there is water, surely even in the depths of insane hopelessness, there must be sane hope. To deny it also means I admit it, I confess my weakness of believing in better.
I am alone, but then again, was anyone else ever there to begin with? The illusion of connection was a drug I rode as long as youth and foolishness would allow. Now the reality of isolation and singularity are the landscape I see. Anything else is a wondrous oasis, a calm shelter from the storm of bullshit despair. I wake in the morning wanting to scream, or cry out. Who would hear me? I find others say I don’t have it so bad. My reality is something entirely divorced from whatever objective reality is. Sanity is a tyranny of the majority of productive people. Psychopathy is allowed so long as you make your investors money. Depression is fine if you are productive and pay your bills. Anxiety isn’t anyone’s problem so long as you keep producing good work.
There is no heart, not in me and not in man. The lack of recognition and lack of empathy of the world around me stands evidence that the concept of compassion is the true insanity. It is truly insane to expect help from others when it is not in their interest. It is to be a mad man to trust someone. I have never claimed to be sane though. My whole life I have been labeled with illnesses. Yet what is my claim? Do I internalize them?
I have, but I shouldn’t.
I write because when I put down the pain into words, it allows me to look at them, to realize that it’s not just in my head. There is a reason flow, there is a progression where hope proceeds to pain as I wait for relief. So long as I can detach, admit my failures, and doubt my vision, delusions and hallucinations have not descended yet. I refuse to ever let myself lose my grip again. This grip on reality is all that I have that cannot be taken from me. Break my heart (suppose I have one), degrade my logic, destroy my mind, break down my immune system and defenses. Yet, so long as I will it, I will survive. These diseases will run course, and this pain will pass. I will emerge on the other side, stronger. If not in all ways, in my will. I will dominate that which opposes me by force of will. I have challenged more powerful things, and won. I am not afraid. Tired, sure. No matter how weak I become, I can retain control. One step at a time, one minute at a time, soon this day will end, I will drink deeply from the cup of sleep. Perhaps I won’t wake. That would be fortunate.
3 comments
This is amazing. Thanks for writing this.
I really like your brain. Hoping you will be pleasantly surprised and find more reasons to stick around. 🙂
This is very well written. Quite eloquent, tbh.