I feel there is something within me that reveals itself to everyone except me. I know it is a weakness, a desperation, a sadness, because this is what they tell me. But I’m incapable of seeing it. This is why I can’t trust myself. I’m so disconnected from my core that when it tries to express itself, I feel as if a stranger is inhabiting my  body. I behave in ways I’m not consciously aware of. The reaction I always receive is negative. People withdraw and regard me with looks of concern, surprise and disapproval. Then I think “what the hell did I do to elicit that response?” I feel hurt and rejected. I retreat within myself, my mind racing. When they fail to provide some reason or clarity, my self-hatred and general cynicism are fuelled. There remains a tiny, distant voice within me – the voice of intuition, and it tells me I need to get in touch with my core. That there is something so massive and heavy that wants to make itself known. It wants me to acknowledge and accept it but I push it down, down, down and nearly suffocate it. Then, its only audience is the outside world. If its captor won’t set it free then maybe other people will. It drives me to behave impulsively and recklessly. To chase the affections of people who only value my body. It knows they’re too wrapped up in their own heads to want me for more than that, and yet it still pursues them in the hope that THIS person might be different. Maybe THIS one will love me.

That hope is quickly squashed when they make their disinterest clear. The cycle has repeated yet again, and my self-esteem has copped another blow. I’m back to square 1, with my core still having received no acceptance or freedom. Consciously, I remain intent on avoiding its pleas for recognition because I am too scared to acknowledge any weaknesses I may have. Confronting traumas means reliving them, and that means going through the motions of a pain so strong it makes you physically ill. I can’t do that by myself without crumbling. I need to be vulnerable with someone, face to face. But I have no-one.

I feel like there’s no point in trying to please anyone. You can try until your soul is weary and you’ve given every piece of yourself away, and they’ll disregard all of that before replacing you. They’ll find someone more exciting, spontaneous, clever, quick-witted, carefree, driven, self-assured, and patient. Someone with more symmetrical features and clearer skin. Just when you think you’ve settled, even with just a friendship, they’ll discover their desire to conquer someone else, because humans are drawn to a challenge. This seems to be an instinct that everyone I’ve ever known has failed to repress, or hasn’t deemed me worthy enough to try to.

Sea

My mind varies dramatically like the ocean’s current yields to the mystical forces of the moon and gravity. I find myself contemplating everything at once until my thoughts overflow like a monstrous high tide, or staring into space until I lose my senses, calmed by the tranquillity of floating on the water’s surface.

Reverie from 6pm

Sometimes I find it wearying to pour my emotive energy into a conventional outlet and express it that way. It sounds kind of ironic, as I’m writing in this very moment. But it never seems fulfilling or adequate. I have a tendency to disregard all the writing and art I’ve culminated in the past and label it all as garbage, and then keep coercing myself to improve by integrating a new method or philosophy.

Most of the time, I let everything simmer on full heat in my mind – all these chaotic, cluttered thoughts which fuel my deep-rooted discomforts and discontents that I internalize so well and try to counteract when circumstances require putting on a masquerade. But letting all these musings and speculations reach boiling point always leads to inner self-destruction of many forms, and intensifies my resentment of everything.

Though oftentimes I find myself terribly reluctant and unwilling to probe into my mind in the hope of discovering stimulating ideas and manipulating them onto paper, the subconscious personal need to write has became overpowering. In a world dulled by mediocrity and an absence of sentiment, writing has become my very own sanctum.

So when everything has gone haywire and I feel absolutely powerless and imprisoned in a permanent cycle of detriment, I grab a pen.

Disarranged thoughts from 4am

There comes a time when we realize we have to be numb and devoid of vulnerability and sentimentality to be able to endure the chaos that plagues the world. If we let our emotions consume our minds, these feelings delve into our subconscious and we lose all sense of clarity, entering a state of internal frenzy that further inhibits our potentialities. This has always been my problem. I might as well say the past few years have been one ongoing existential crisis, but at least I can say I’m no longer afraid to admit to personal weaknesses.

Everything is so wondrously intricate. The stems of leaves, the wiring of arteries in the brain, the antennae on insects, our veins, the constellations above –  they’re all a complex blend of fractals, all derived from combinations of the same matter. The human brain consists of 100 billion neurons at birth – the same amount of stars that there are in the Milky Way.

Yet simultaneously, everything seems conpletely meaningless and nonsensical. They say the sky is the limit, but I want to know what’s beyond it. Nothing on Earth can fill the bottomless void in my mind. I crave a universal explanation for my existence and the way things are.

Maybe we’re all mere combinations of 118 elements, ruled by the primitive instincts of our descendants who dwelled in rainforest canopies and picked berries without ever having the cognitive capacity to be aware of themselves. Life that was once dictated and perceived through our five senses, has been replaced by sensibility.

I wish I could release my troubles onto some divine being and tell myself every mistake is part of a greater plan for my life. There’s something about avoiding liabilities and adopting a naive faith in a separate entity that seems so appealing, yet unrealistic.

I want to find fulfillment by venturing into the vast unknown – visiting another dimension or universe – merely to see if there exists anything beyond human knowledge and sensory awareness. Maybe I’m asking for too much in wanting to grasp a concept that surpasses comprehension, for wanting to crack a code that’s too complex to decipher.

The stars twirl and dance in enchanting synchronization, the planets revolve like pendulums, comets soar from their interstellar origins, and meanwhile the human being has the audacity to convince himself that his small and irrelevant life has meaning.

Religion is a human invention that stemmed from the longing to connect with the infinite source of all things – a higher essence, or something that observes all the providence that occurs in the universe and cradles us in its palm. Something that can love, guide and protect us long after our parents are gone.

What I do know is that we’re all amalgams of billion year old carbon that have manifested to become exquisitely sentient and reflective. Mind, matter and space are not entities entirely separate from each other. Through philosophy, culture, moral reasoning and the growth of individualism, ever since the dawn of civilization, we’ve managed to convince ourselves that we’re not interconnected with the external universe – that we’re mere individuals confined in our own personal bubbles, catching momentary glimpses through the veil. The reality is, we will yield to the all-powerful laws of nature, regardless of our ego or its individualistic wishes. Being so closely reliant and intertwined with the elements of nature, as well as being responsible for it’s recent decay since the beginning of the 20th century for the purpose of economic and technological advancement, we have an obligation to maintain its balance. If we all had a simultaneous epiphany and realized that we’re on a rapid downward spiral that’s in our hands, we could collectively strive to reverse it.

I remind myself that there is still hope. The human experience of consciousness and love; of fusion and shared desire for another being, is an oasis in the desert that we all aimlessly wander. It’s an extraordinary feeling when you realize you’re no longer alone and insignificant in the grand scheme of things, that you can trust a human being on a level that was once unthinkable to you. That you matter to someone.

However at this point in time, there is little that fulfills me except solitude. Perhaps I’m just tired of monotony, behavioural restraint, and the pressure to be submissive to authorities –  to morph into someone with characteristics I resent, to fuse with an army of drones that operate like programmed machinery and to have my future mapped out already.

I’m certain of nothing except death. My mind dwells on a superficial, predictable plain, occupied by cravings for instant gratification. Every sound is muffled; every sight is cloudy and unreachable. My brain throbs and feels detached from my body. The truth is, I know nothing about myself or anything, and I matter to no-one.

Here’s the trut…

Here’s the truth: people, even regular people, are never just any one person with one set of attributes. It’s not that simple. We’re all at the mercy of the limbic system, clouds of electricity drifting through the brain. Every man is broken into twenty-four-hour fractions, and then again within those twenty-four hours. It’s a daily pantomime, one man yielding control to the next: a backstage crowded with old hacks clamoring for their turn in the spotlight. Every week, every day. The angry man hands the baton over to the sulking man, and in turn to the sex addict, the introvert, the conversationalist. Every man is a mob, a chain gang of idiots – Jonathan Nolan