It’s impressive really, how much of your life you can ruin with what little control over it you have. Sleep, should I be able to get any, is the only real release I have. But sleep comes in short, restless intervals. Dark circles and insomnia are no longer just temporary traits I may have. No. These are now part of me. They’re my personality.
But, and here’s the real kicker, my insomnia isn’t even insomnia. It’s a symptom of something more, something deeper. Worry, stress, loneliness, and the unbearable sadness that washes over me in waves. I try to bury it, but it festers and poisons everything in my life that is good. Everything I enjoy fades and they soon turn into the things I hate. I’m on edge, easily triggered, and sensitive. Or, perhaps, my mind is just weak. Weak like my body and weak like my soul. How is it possible for one to be so goddamn weak?
People look up to me. My sisters depend on me. They need someone. Someone that isn’t our parents to tell them everything is going to be okay. To show them the way, and, where am I? Fifteen hundred miles away, weak in every possible sense of the word because I found a permanent solution for a temporary problem.
Wasn’t I the one convinced that I was somehow smarter than most? Look at where I’m at now. Do you still feel superior? Or have you finally been humbled? Are you proud of yourself? Are you proud of the decisions you’ve made, of the person you’ve become? When you look in the mirror, do you even recognize the person looking back at you anymore? No. I don’t…
That’s the real problem, isn’t it? That I’m hopelessly lost and terribly alone. Every connection I make, I overestimate my place. I find myself thinking about these people on a regular basis. What stories do I want to share with them next? What questions do I have for them? What hypotheticals? What else am I willing to share with them to feel better about myself? But do they think about me? Of course, they don’t. How pathetic can I get
Talking about your problems helps. Or, at least, that’s what I’m told. All talking about my problems has ever gotten me is to face them. Which is a step in the right direction, no doubt. However, I can face my problems, but I never know how to solve them. How does one just suddenly feel adequate? Mediocracy is a cancer that eats away at the very being of my soul. I don’t need to be superhuman or even excel. All I want is something that is more than mediocre. I don’t want to be… predictable.
Maybe that’s where my lost sense of identity comes from. Maybe the problem is that I am predictable. Maybe that’s why I crave fame, notoriety, scandal, drama, something. It’s just like self-mutilation. Feeling something is better than feeling nothing, right? Only, this is on the inside. Nobody can ask me to pull up my sleeves up to see these scars. No. These scars cut deeper than that. They’re so deep, you can’t see where they begin and where they end. You can't tell the extent of the damage. An endless abyss of nothingness. That’s what my soul feels like. I only wish someone could help me. I wish someone could say Stop, no! Don’t do that anymore! Unfortunately for me, and probably countless other people in the world, that’s not how that works.
Do you know the saying ‘people don’t change’? Maybe they’re right. Maybe that’s why nobody can stop me. Maybe, even if my self-destructive thought process was curbed, it would never go away. No matter how hard I work or how much I try, it’s my destiny to always hurt myself in the end. Even if that’s true, I still must fight, right? Surely, if other diseases of the mind can be curbed or stopped completely, mine can too? Right? God, please, please just give me a sign. Give me a sign that one day, one day soon, I’ll be able to escape this labyrinth.
Human emotions are so complicated. Why? How is it even possible to not understand yourself? How is it possible to be able to understand something as complex as DNA or outer space but we can’t even grasp the full complexity of the human mind? It’s amazing, really. Maybe we don’t truly understand what we think we do. Half of our “knowledge” is arbitrary anyway. We gave things meaning and value and now we need to understand the meaning we gave them. Crazy. Maybe we all need humbled. Humans really are stupid creatures. Weak creatures. If humans are naturally weak, how weak must you be to be considered a weak human? Impressively weak, I think. That’s where I stand. The absolute lowest of the low.