Capricious

46 - Red Pill, Blue Pill

"Anxiety is a thin stream of fear trickling through the mind. If encouraged, it cuts a channel into which all other thoughts are drained."
- Arthur Somers Roche

My days run so short, I can barely accomplish anything, then it's over, then I must start all over again. I'm falling more and more behind, and yet I have nothing to show for it.

In the zone of exhilarating discomfort, of painful anxiety, I can't compare, I'm forming hope and having it obliterated at the same time. Living with no mind, pottering in here and there with careless improvisation, thinking so much I feel nothing at all. At the peak of the strait, weird and troublesome, some too serious, and some so fun, but what chance have I wasted, an amateur I have become.

All I want is to understand, all I want is to be understood.

We rate the physical beauty of others only in comparison to ourselves.

I never want to stop, I never want to settle down, not as long as there are still things to explore; places to visit, feelings to experience, limits to stretch. I want to live life to the full, exhaust every possibility, for as long as I can.

Everything was going so well. Now it's like I'm being repeatedly punched in the gut for little or no reason at all. I can't make sense of it, I can't concentrate on it, I can't do it. My mind jumping to everything, to her time after time. Nothing can help me, I can find no way to beat it, I could do it before, but I've lost something, I can't connect the dots anymore. I feel so messed up, I need pain, I need to hurt myself, to get rid of this feeling. My body attacking itself, shuddering and jolting and hitting itself. I'm such a worthless mess, I don't deserve any of it, I'm broken, I'm lazy, I'm stupid. If I can't do this, then I can't do anything. Nothing is working properly, I keep getting worse, my emotions are drowning. I realise how little everything matters, and I have no wish to even try. Consistent failure a deadly killer, especially in the face of endless perseverance, just to fail and fail again. I don't understand. No matter how much I keep on trying, no matter what approach I take, I keep on failing, always quicker than before, always worse than before, until I've failed before I've even started. Now it has me doubting the surest things.

But where a lack of understanding saps energy from your bones, understanding fuels you on and on in a euphoric surge of triumph.

An all-consuming happiness when there is an audience to play a part, and then even without to the slightest seduction, breaking my own rules, my day dreams flourishing in a flurrying of ways. If only life and time were more compatible, could I outgrow myself, could I fashion my dreams into my future.

When under such depressive emotions, my memories do deceive me.

And yet now perhaps I'm finding myself living too much in the present, forgoing my future just to feel something, anything, because I cannot see, because I have no goals, because I've gone too far, in the opposite direction. Fears that I might become nothing, that I might let myself down lead to my mind switching between past then present, present then future. The comfort or cringe of the past, of all that is gone, that matters not, that teaches me even so. The infinite void of the future, that I don't want to decide, that I must fashion with what I have mustered, even as I learn what path I should have taken, years too late. Time is broken. I can't do this on my own. I need to feel something.

Imitations to show our liking, a mirror of one another, for some desire or another.

I seem to be able to waken the rest of my body, but never my mind, I feel shattered constantly, no matter what I try.

Running dark with blips of light, from light with blips of dark, fears rise that I violated life whilst intoxicated, in which I may have caused distress, in which others' perceptions of me have faltered. Unfulfilled desires manifesting as relentless thinking, bringing sorrow to my days. I don't want to be so broken, I just want to be good enough for you, for everyone, because I know this isn't what you want of me, because I know I'm not as good as I want to be. Spirals of darkness spinning faster and faster, with sources of light so far from my reach. How ironic that as storms hit the world, they hit my mind just as hard.