I don’t know what to do. I’m writing this and it’s all so sketchy. There are days I’m not paranoid and then there are days where I question if I should trust the world and my loved ones. I’m just a fucked up statement of life. I hate life and everything it consists of. I don’t wanna see the sun shining and the clouds passing by. I don’t wanna see the grass and the food we eat that in the majority is micro-processed. I feel so burdened with my thoughts, for they consume me entirely. I am not me anymore, I am a curvature of a broken life. I’ve been writing poetry lately and I’m thinking of taking it off Facebook. I don’t know if the people that read my stuff are plotting against me or something. On a daily basis I struggle with the thoughts of why am I here? What is my purpose? Life is a routine and I’m rotting away. I think of how freaky it is that we see through these eyes and walk with our limbs. Like omg, it’s not cool. It’s like I’m repulsed by everything and anything, why do we have an environment and why are things ours instead of someone else’s. Our stuff has our aura on it. It’s all weird. I’m paranoid most days. I’m anxious with pins and needles through my body and my body gets so hot that I be thinking I have high blood pressure or something. I’m the definition of the walking dead. There’s nothing that life has to offer me besides the possibility of music fulfilling me. But even then, music gets me paranoid. I think music talks to me, even the radio. I refuse to listen to the radio most of the time. I try so hard to tell my mind that’s its all in my mind. I just wanna be non-existent. But on the other hand life is all I’ve known. What happens after death?
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i understand what you mean especially with the idea of not stomaching the routine of life, like waking up and eating and breathing then sleeping. I may not have experienced the paranoia you speak of but feeling anxious is something i know is horrible.
Ugh, I really don’t know what to do with myself at this point. I’m not normal and I don’t think normal at all. Am I an alien or something >.<
Life is the art of ignorance. Ignore the right things in the right amount and you shall thrive. If not, you already know dontcha…
Douglas hofstadter wrote… ” life is the perfect analogue of Godel’s theorem. That there was a time before we were born and and there will be a time after we are dead is simply inconcievable to us. Life is all we know”. Or something like that.
I know exactly what you’re talking about. I opened up a little to my friend about it a year or so ago, and he and several people he asked about it think it’s completely normal feeling that way. With a past as bad as mine, it’s understandable. I walk around paranoid everyone is out to get me, or everyone wants to hurt me. It’s hard for me to trust anyone, or just to make friends or connect with anyone at all. I’m just so anxious and paranoid all the time, it haunts me ;-;
That is a very interesting statement, ill keep that in mind.
Ashley, I can very well relate as well. My past is the reason I get paranoid, we are just all accidents waiting to happen >.< There's people out there with no problems whatsoever. Such a travesty. UGHHH. what's normal and what's not?! ya know?
@hank:
that there was a time before, and will be a time after each of us, is not inconceivable to me. I may be a special snowflake, but i’d call it a “safe bet,” that there are indeed others who can conceive of such things.
The art of ignorance… such a profound and, recursively accurate statement. It’s just like in music: the most important part is knowing what Not to play. Anyone can learn to play all the notes. Who can know which not to play? Who can know how long to rest between them?
Perhaps… art itself, is the result of skill developed through practiced application of ignorance.
Perhaps life is art? Maybe it’s all just a living paintbrush on a temporal canvas. It doesn’t “matter,” per se, but it can be “meaningful,” due to what we choose to express… and what we choose to ignore and omit. Perhaps the lines and trails of influence we carve through history, is “the point.”