I keep getting sucked back into the past, searching for a time when things still felt meaningful. When I could still sometimes convince myself that I was acceptable. It’s a long time ago now. I desperately want to go back, and somehow preserve that illusion. Stop myself from ruining everything. Push myself to find real connections. Prepare myself for the world. Live a worthwhile life. Find peace.
And I know thinking about all this is pointless and counterproductive. The past is the past. What’s done is done. Those possibilities are simply not open to me anymore, however painful it may be to acknowledge it. The only question is what to do going forward. It seems that I’m too afraid to end things, and lack the necessary conviction to overcome that fear right now. So until something changes, I may as well try and make the best of things. May as well try to limit the amount of suffering I cause myself.
But I don’t know how to stop. My subconscious is desperately seeking it’s way back to a time when life still felt meaningful. When I felt that it was worth living. When I wasn’t disconnected from all beauty & purpose. I don’t know how to live without that comfort. The world is cold, lonely, ugly, and brutal. Without any of the distractions of love, friendship, personal integrity, and spirituality, I don’t know how to function. There’s nothing to hope for, nothing worth suffering for, nothing to comfort or console.
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This is me searching for how I felt before I was arrested. Too bad the police are a play dirty cult
“Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living,” Dr . Seuss
Hi, thehusk. This is a moment where I would say *ditto*. I always reminisce the past time and get into a loop of nostalgia; especially the times where the world says not to ‘tread’ like my childhood times. Even though I can relate to my Uni times, I miss the childhood times as they were innocent and fantasy like. I am quite fantasy prone person as well. I think many geniuses are and live in a world where other can’t see. The others can’t understand escapism because escapism is sometimes the only hope of a world where we want to live in.
I suppose you are also into dreams. Gosh, I had dreams months ago I still ponder. I have extremely vivid dreams at times and can’t stop thinking about them. It is like they are calling me. It is a world where I feel I can release myself and be whoever I beget.
I do no think the world as we know it would ever be different from the totalitarianism we have to survive under.
I sometimes describe people I see and can talk to. Many times when I am by myself i talk to myself and to “people” in the room and I would talk back at myself sometimes impersonating another person.
I am very verbal and visually sensitive and I always feel a presence in the room although there is no one. I just talk. I talk and ask myself and my sub-conscious mind questions and it brings me people which I imagine and can sync with.
I live a very deep internal world away from this awful existence. As soon as I lose myself in a world as we know it, I get depressed. And of course they will label us as “handicapped or “mentally ill”, and “schizo”, because “how dare we enjoy ourselves”?
We are simply the bi-product of a world that gone stale and has nothing more to offer. I make no apologies for it, Neither should you!
You write of elements of hope. I don’t recall exactly how you phrased it in your post a few days ago, but my takeaway from your words was “I hope.” Ditto this post, amidst all the frustration.
Damned if I have any relevant advice for you, other than to say that in my life, my experiences, sometimes that small thread of hope can lead to. . . something better.
Keep hoping, for whatever worth those two simple words hold. When you stop hoping, when there’s no desire to find something better, whether it’s similar to past experiences or the beginnings of new experiences, well, then you’re in trouble.
The thing is, I have nothing to really hang that hope upon. I wouldn’t even call it hope – I’d say I’m attached to the idea of something that can no longer be. It’s not a thread that leads anywhere forward – it only leads me back, to times where I still really felt it. It’s not hope so much as the memory of hope, or nostalgia for hope. The ghost of hope.
And yet apparently I’m still here, for the time being. So I guess I’ll keep staggering on. Perhaps at least I can figure out ways to reduce the amount of pain I cause myself. Got some new sleeping tablets today, so maybe I won’t be stuck lying awake tormenting myself again tonight.
“My subconscious is desperately seeking it’s way back to a time when life still felt meaningful. ”
. . . as well as forward, to a time when life will again be meaningful.
I won’t be annoying and go on with the whole “hope” thing. I’ll just say that it seems to me that at some point there is at least a possibility that you’ll find something to grasp onto. It’s up to each one of us to seek out whatever that may be, and it just seems to me that you’re not ready to give up the search quite yet.
If all you can do is stagger until you can walk, then hell, stagger. Stagger on. Even staggering is forward motion.
My staggering tends to go in circles – I move in a roughly forward direction but somehow end up back where I started.
Sure, it seems theoretically possible. But I can’t imagine how, so I don’t really know how to ‘seek’ it. Nothing I could do would change the basic facts. There’s no path I can work out to get me there, and yearning after it just leads to more suffering.
But neither am I confident enough in the pointlessness of it all to overcome my fear and end it (yet.) So I’ll continue staggering round and around this dark wood, hoping to come upon a path at some point, and trying to reduce my distress in the mean time.
Thanks for continuing to comment by the way. I really appreciate it.
🙂