I am always aware of the constant self-struggle inside of me. Struggling for many different things, depending on the time of day, the people I meet, and my mood, among other unforeseeable unpredictable variables. It could be just a girl that walks by, and I wonder if she knows how lovely she is. The way people are lovely because they are so young with their fresh skin and their eyes burning bright with hope. I wonder if thinking a thought like that means I feel ancient, if my soul doesn’t match my shell, if I think too much.
I think too much.
Some days a girl like that could expose my insecurity. Not pretty enough. Not good enough. Just… not enough. Some days a girl like that makes me think of the many other types of girls I could have been. Some days it is really just so simple and I wonder about the story behind her. Well, it could easily be a boy. Ha. Anyone at all. I wonder if I am alone in this, alone with my paranoia and obsessive observations.
Mostly, I think about the need to keep my thoughts under control, especially since they have the inclination to slip and dig deep into dark territory. Self-control. And to keep reminding myself that this will pass, this thought, the realness of it, or at least, as real as it seems to me, as real as I have accidentally unconsciously made it.
It is easy to convince yourself when you’ve done it long enough.
I think distractions help too. Comedies. Movies. Socializing. Stealing the mannerisms and mentalities of others so you become them- happy, and normal, and functional. Work. Too much work. Focusing your attentions on other people. After a while you forget these thoughts. You have no time for them. But you don’t stop having them. You can’t stop having them. Not when you’ve had them for as long as you can remember. You just, forget. They fade. Then they grow inside of you. They take root and wrap their minds around your mind and entwine their veins around your veins. Somewhere within your nightmares and the secret places you never knew you had. They know where you hurt. They know how to make you feel the pain. Repression. Suppression. Self-control. So that if, you happen to find yourself with a little bit of freedom, if, you happen to find yourself wide awake, in the middle of the night, unable to fall asleep, they pounce on you. They prey on you.
Jesus Jesus Jesus.
Don’t you remember me?
Jesus Jesus Jesus.
They say when your name is said,
it is a short and powerful prayer for salvation,
a declaration of conviction in utterly blind faith,
a desperate plea for a miracle.
Tell me, what’s the point of distracting yourself from death?
We all die.
Might as well do it now.
What does it matter?
It is not because you are alone.
It is because you are not alone.
Can't you see, that they are everywhere?
I don't understand.
I don't know who to listen to.
You drink a glass of water to kiss the tranquil night goodbye.
It will pass.
This will pass.
The night will pass.
Listen to some music.
Watch some television.
Try and drown it out.
I think it also helps to learn to channel all these negative energy into a safe outlet. Painting. Writing. The sound of words. Expressing yourself in a way that is not self-destructive. Talking. Babbling wildly insane nonsense to keep yourself sane.
I'm so tired.
Let me go to sleep.
Who isn't tired?
We're all tired.
You don't have to hate someone who already hates himself.
Jesus Jesus Jesus.
Mostly, I hold on to the memory of all the insistent voices and faces and scenes that plagued me, and how they all came to an end. Eventually. And so, this one, this horribly persistent growl, this soft sarcastic chuckle of condemnation, this unbearable world-weariness that came too swiftly, too soon, this exploding rupture of black blood through old wounds and scars, will come to an end. Everything comes to an end. Yes, it overwhelms. I know. I know. But it will pass. You will be OK. This will pass. It has to pass. The night will pass. Hang on. Hold on. It will pass.
Maybe not soon enough, but soon enough.
(And it was over the moment I completed the last sentence
and put a full stop at the end of it.)