I should be better. I should do better. I want to be less awful. I want not to feel so awful.
I don’t want to change. I don’t want to face reality. Fuck reality. Fuck everyone.
Fuck me. I should end it. It’s hopeless.
I’m scared. I don’t want to let go. What if it goes wrong? What if things get worse?
I hate myself. Through your eyes, I loathe myself. Through the parts of myself that I want to see in you I detest myself.
I love myself. In my eyes I am master of the universe. I am the ubermensch.
I am a pathetic and socially maladjusted ape with delusions of grandeur.
‘I’ am nothing. The narrative confections of a brain trying to contrive a plausible explanation of behavior for the consumption of others.
I am alone. Utterly alone. I chose this road, and there’s no way back.
But I can’t help looking back over my shoulder, and wondering ‘what if…?’
In another universe, a me who is not me sleeps peacefully, safe in the knowledge that he could never do the things that led me to this place.
Though he may carry my name and DNA, he lacks the necessary brain states to serve as a valid comparison.
If I could have been him, then I would have. But the dice rolled differently, and decisions were made as a consequence. Acts were committed, and our ways parted at a fundamental stage.
Still, I can’t help staring across the divide and wishing I was in his position, though to be there I would have needed to be him, and therefore ‘I’ would have never existed.
These are the strange things you find yourself thinking, when your life has no meaning.
3 comments
Why you loathe youraelf os beyond me, but then again, I am not you. Things can always get worse, Husk. Things can get better, too, but more often than not you have to sacrifice what little sanity remains, institute some form of counselling (which will draw out things that make matters worse before there is a semblance of better) and eventually there will be a seed of mental clarity.
On another note, you seem to be functioning at a higher intellectual level than most, so it is hard to find clarity when the mind won’t rest long enough to allow you to detangle the threads that put a stranglehold on inner peace.
Perhaps that other you stares across the divide and imagines they were you.. Have you considered that?
The loathing is left purposely vague. Things have gotten worse. Counselling is ongoing, coping mechanisms have been sacrificed, but no clarity as yet. The mind’s refusal to settle does not help – I suppose I must work on sedating it.
While I may not be the worst of all possible me’s, there is certainly no reason for any of the others to imagine themselves in my place – except possibly in a nightmare.
Well Husk, I can honestly say in my 18yrs of counselling (still ongoing) I have gotten some clarity, but as my handle suggests my mind ceases to rest. I have found some sanity and good mental housekeeping in writing, whether it be through journaling, poetry, plays, short stories, etc.
I have thought the same way about the infinite me’s and how they wouldn’t be envious of my life, but perhaps the other me’s (perhaps the other you’s) have not taken steps to place the pieces of themself back together in an attempt to complete the entire puzzle of who/what makes them who/what they are. An alternate of ourselves may be more broken then the reflection in the mirror. If I consider where I was 10 years ago, I am certainly not that person now. When rereading old journals I have noticed my mind became far more organized. I am not struggling as much with ambivalence. Writing may help organize and declutter the mind for you as well. I hope my rambling nonsense helps. 🙂