The self gets angry on nights like these where there is sadness for no apparent reason.
Sadness, sadness is an all-encompassing cape of familiarity. I know when a tiny amount of it is seeded beneath the consciousness and when it enters the system, buried deep. I nod when it blooms and spreads throughout the being like a cancer, generous with its offerings of despair. How can I not acknowledge that tiredness in my muscles, the gnashing of teeth, the tightening of the jaw, the downturned drooping of the mouth. How can I choose to ignore what I know will soon follow?
We’re not alone, and then we are. The point is that to adapt is an individual and voluntary thing. We must self-adapt and self-survive because that’s just the way things have always been and always will be. To expect others to always care about your bagful of worries is trite and childish because everybody’s got their own baggage to mind and it is difficult to find anybody willing to fiddle about to stop and listen and folks that is fine so long as you know that people can’t always be at your disposal and to not hope for too much. Hidden agendas have always proven to be aplenty and sometimes you are hopeful and some nights you just wonder what the fuck you’re even fighting for when you see people compromising people so freely and you begin to doubt. I have known love and affection after all and I have always been fortunate to be surrounded by kindness and a loving family as a permanent fixture throughout my years of living but it angers me to know that lives revolve around the pursuit of what we think will bring us to eventual happiness, based on what the mass media has conditioned us to think and feel. We are not a well-oiled system, an education should bring you to awareness that there is more than just what we’re designed to feel and think is right. It just seems so… cheap and sparse of meaning when I see everyday interactions sometimes. For all it’s worth, there are different types of love that should be more frequently accredited aside from just romantic love and I hate how overly exaggerated the media makes of just one type of affection. How about the love you see of a child towards his parent? Or that feeling you feel when you care enough about a friend to will them to succeed even if you have not seem or heard their voice in years? Some days I fail to feel very forgiving and today is such a day where I want so badly to be reassured that things are real, that hope is there, that these arms are really mine to keep. And maybe I’m just angry. Angry that I am once again revolving around this empty space again after all, retracing thoughts and being angry at the actions of others and how they live off attention and kindness which should never be so easily compromised.
It seems that the world is becoming more frail, with increasing stories of violence filling up the blanks frequently. Hearing about such tarry illnesses and cruelties of the world are important but they still leave me feeling weary, helpless, and uncaptivated at best. You begin to doubt and question everything. The idea of being frail is a terrible thought but the animal nature of mankind itself seems so uncouth and selfish, a virus bordering on making me wonder if we are indeed inhabiting a New Age dystopia. Even amongst the brightest of our population you see flowers of evil savagely dominating their minds. Or maybe I am assuming wrong — maybe the world has always been built this way and age is the guilty perpetrator convincing me otherwise, of a more innocent day and age that has always ceased to exist except in the minds of the young, naive, and the overtly ideal. I don’t want to make ineffective nostalgia my bitch.
And why the hell is Eminem’s ‘Without Me’ playing on my iTunes? This moment has totally been rendered to angsty lulz now.
You gave me a life I never chose
I wanna leave but the world won’t let me go
I wanna leave but the world won’t let me go"
— Blindness by Metric