Can someone be so scared of facing reality that they just watch as every opportunity passes by? Evidently, yes. These writings are proof of that. Not that I know who exactly is writing this, because these cannot be my thoughts. Haven't I convinced myself that, fundamentally, I don't care for humanity? Then why is every other second spent in thought of one particular human?
Perhaps there is something to reincarnation after all. I know I am damaged, but how can that explain the entirety of my experience? The thought that all these years of suffering could be the result of a deeper, more elemental sin that I have committed, is vaguely comforting. It could be that I am meant to proceed with this belief, and convince the Spirit of its place in my universe. Or it could just be another of increasingly disturbing delusions. And destroying a life other than my own is a step too far.
I know I shouldn't spend time getting so invested in stories, imagining them as forking paths in lives that could have been. I know that what I ought is to look ahead, to make something of the life that actually lies in waiting, not the ones I passed by. But though I know that fantasy will not take me to anyplace good, I cannot see anything better on offer.
I'm searching for words, but also for feelings. Because I know I must be feeling something now, only, it can't seem to make its way to the surface. It is too crowded up here: I find myself in a surfeit of thought and emotion. How much more can I fill this well with no one to empty it? At present, the answer seems to be: not a drop more. So with a full heart and light head I survey what is left of the world around me. Songs, stories, sirens, all beckon for my attention, attempting to provoke me into response. But I dispatch them with unquestioning resolve. It was all fun while it lasted, believe me; but now it is time to move on, and stop falling victim to the vagaries of emotion. Instead I shall learn to look straight ahead, pretending to occupy the space I am standing in, and wait for a purpose to make itself known.
Self-deprecation is occasionally funny, and consequently can be useful as a social device. But I know it's also profoundly cowardly at times, the cheap joke offered in lieu of action or effort. Why do I just shut off in front of other people? Because I live in fear. All this self-effacing is much easier than actually trying something new, expending the energy to do something, rather than just observing the world from afar, carefully crafting words that aim convince myself how special my thoughts are. But I know that it is, sadly, not true. Sounds that echo around endlessly can seem the most beautiful melody when it is all you hear.
This is why I value socialising. Sometimes, it seems the ultimate form of sobriety -- it convinces you you are no one.
This blog is a creative outlet whose overarching purpose has varied over the years. While once I had pretensions of fictional writing, nowadays I'm content with studying events and moments in my life that (I hope) mean more than they let on.