Saturday, February 25, 2017

 I'm clinging on desperately to every smile, every laugh, every acknowledgement that I exist in some form of positive light. My nights are spent in careful dissection of the day's events, as I try to come to the conclusion I want to hear: that this could be something. But when I get the opportunities that I spend all weeks trying to create, I'm left crippled by a cold dose of reality. I see snatches of an actual life being lived, with friends and hobbies and a general sense of purpose. What is it that I have to offer in addition to this rich world? Perhaps when I can answer that question, I might have more luck. But somehow I think it's going to be a while.


Something is trying to find me, but my mind doesn't let it in. I've sheltered it now for the last few months with all manner of work, thought, and really anything else I can find that will help create some fortification. Now that I find myself without any excuses to fall back on, I can sense this stranger approaching again. It is trying to tell me something true, something I should probably hear; but even before it speaks, I know I'm not going to be able to handle it.

Looking ahead, it seems I have a couple of choices. One is to keep building my wall, and embrace a life that is lived running away from something. The other has the nobler sound to it: confronting what it is I fear, and in the process coming to some great realisation about myself. But am I being too cynical when I say that all may just be too late? You tell me what I'm supposed to look forward to. You tell me where it is I'm suddenly going to find my purpose. The time for all that has passed; in whatever time I have left, am I not better off spending it doing something productive? And so what if that life makes me unhappy? It's not like the alternative is any better.