For the longest time I have thought very poorly of myself, but never as one.
Yet, when when I look back upon my life, most of what I see is ruin.
The vestiges of every time I said I was going to turn things around, of the times I cried with the belief my soul has gained back its vitality, that I could dedicated myself to something again, that I could live again.
“During my entire life I have sought other worlds, places where I could discover truth, research the fabric of the universe, places where I could seek thing earnestly and truthfully. Perhaps alone, perhaps with other people.
I have dreamed of journeys, I have dreamed of movement, on and on again. I have seen myself in the universities, among the researchers, the readers, the seekers. I have seen myself aboard ships, to far away lands. I have seen myself getting stronger, to reach ever further within and beyond.
Yet I stand here today. I am not a researcher, I am not an adventurer, I am not strong nor well-read, I am not an anomaly.
I stand here today, making unconscious choices, ignoring fate and duty alike. This is not life.” - Unreleased draft
At certain times, I would look in-ward, simultaneous gazing into nothingness, and everything I wanted.
Yes, for every single of my dreams found itself accomplished within my imagination, I felt the joy of success I never known, impacting lives of people, becoming great, hard-working, and good. Have I made myself a vessel for dreams?
During my childhood, no matter how much pain I went through, no matter the injustice, the harm, I could take it all, never pushing back, never fighting for myself, like a saint seeks salvation from God, I left myself to the grand designs of my dreams. I could live within my own sophisticated illusions, gradually desensitizing myself to what reality had to offer.
There is a place for me, I know it, I have known it ever since I was a child and found nowhere to fit in. There is a place for me beyond, somewhere among the stars that shine upon me, somewhere among the dreams that remind me that I can still feel, so distant yet they do not fail to touch me, there is a place for me there.
A place for me to make, or a place for me to find. Be it through acceptance or obsession, but as of now, I am not alive, and this is not my life. If I was to be born so starry-eyed, if I was to carry all of these dreams, then I cannot live my life this way, it is the most tragic thing. It the death of a universe within a person, by pure negligence.
I’m terribly and wonderfully weird.
There has been many of these reminders, I have gotten closer but it is not enough. And the amount of reminders have dwindled over time. One day, I may forget.
The fire is still flickering, it is still alive. - Unreleased draft
When push comes to shove, I retreat to the ruins, and imagine them whole.
Today, I feel like a failure.
Today, I feel like I failed myself.
Epiphanies Herodotus would have spoken about, yet nothing acted upon. The light never protected from the harsh winds of forgetting, never embraced, never met with unyielding will.
What can I do? What can I do to embody the flame?
An existence within, that needs to be brought to life. The actions I overlook, what are they denying?
There is still time. The clock is still ticking.
How to live truly? Every moment spent like this disgusts me. I feel as though I am committing an unspeakable crime. - Unreleased draft
What is unyielding will? It is faith that your rebellion will change you. That every time you have suggested a better way for yourself and followed through, it will mend you anew.
To have faith, is it to believe? Is it to see the unseen? Perhaps it is the bridge between worlds, through which reality materializes.
I have been depressed for a long time, only recently have I made significant advancements. A hatred towards oneself, a refusal of one’s own existence. What kind of consequences does 16 or so years of such a life have on someone?
Disconnection, from others, from the world, from incentives, from certain feelings, from one’s humanity. The significantly accrued difficulty to do anything, although one is perfectly capable of doing so. There is no motor, only ever increasing concessions to ruin.
DECEIVE YOURSELF.
He who takes control of your body can change, you are but a vessel. From within, you can take back control.
Biological limitations, they exist. You may never know if you are limited. Your environment was awful, you have taken terrible habits, those have merged with your conscience, with your body, you became the embodiment of ruin. You have to dedicate yourself to rebuild from those vestiges, from what was lost in defense against a cruel bringing and childhood, lost in defense against meaninglessness. It did a number on you, but it is not over.
I still exist, you feel me within you. I can see it. I can see you. It is intangible, and infinitely beautiful, that person I see. That person I could become. He who, in my deepest and most hidden corner, I am.
So. Let us take back our life. Do what you wouldn’t do, deceive yourself, make your brain adapt. This is a fight, the fiercest of them all. Against that which protected you, that you must now leave behind. So that the ruins hide the sun no longer. - Unreleased draft
Time will tell, whether, by my own hands, by constant revolt at every moment of weakness, every moment where my entire mind and body, with full force, yearns for idleness, I will have reminded myself of the way and willingly nudged myself back in, as many times as needed for me to gain back control.
Or, if I am just another tragic character.
I can believe in the former, that is my duty, but the latter can only be witnessed.