Right.
Seing this, it might be surprising if I said I'm completly disconnected. I can pull out a classic though, and say "it wasn't me, it was them".
But I wouldn't believe that myself, no. In any case, one of them crossed over, you should've seen his face.
So I made him sit. Sit and listen to me.
I've said many times before, that the worst part of all of this is knowing it's some sort of cycle. It never really ends. I'm not entirely sure if I should say I was promised it would end; I wish I could say that because then I can put the blame on someone else for lying. But that's not really fair is it... Look at me going off track as I tend to, let's focus again. A cycle. Just like your body trying it's damn best to metabolize a hopefully lethal dose of benzodiazepines and barbiturates, to go back to it's starting, "ok" point. The mind is much the same, the difference in the presented scenario is that in the case of medicine, you actively chose to ingest them, or not; maybe force the cycle, maybe avoid it altogether if you're smart. The mind though, it's in love with that cycle it hates so much. And you don't ever do anything to start it.
So we find ourselves in this part of the cycle, and everyone knows it all too well. So much so, the right call was to spare everyone from one's own misery. They've already heart it way too many times, in different colors and flavors. I've spoken about the boy who cried wolf before. And I know myself, for better and worse.
Right, I say I know better, but I never put the pen down, here we are right now anyway. And all my selves struggling hard to comprehend what I'm trying to do. It's fun when even the bad guys look emotionally concerned.
Oh, I was already rambling, wasn't I.
You put all that work to get here, just to sit on a sidewalk staring at the ocean and listening to some creature indulge in their self loathing. Don't worry though, as for what everyone else can understand, not even a second has gone by. So I'll have you sit for now.
Sit, and listen to me.
It's not like I bring people in here much, or so I say. If I do at any point though, they're just a mirage. A puppet, if we look at it a certain way. Not a single time do they realize they're here.
It's really sad to think about. But then again a lot of times one does just out of want. Does that make one masochistic? What do I want? All I can think about doesn't make sense, because I have it already. Sometimes I willingly put it down, even. Why? Because I like the pain?
It's just what comes natural...I wish I was better, so damn bad.
Maybe the mind is inherently evil, because regardless of what I do, the mind just goes back there again and again. And all the occultism in that other world, all the gods, all the sciences, were completely useless in answering why. So you start coming with your own self destructive conclusions. Maybe I deserve it, I really believe I do. And everyone will fight you when you say that.
If all them gods are dead, it means whatever I create in my head is equally as valid. Does that make it equally as true?
Equally as false, more likely.
So we find ourselves here at what one would call the end. Do you remember the end that was defined?
Did it ever come? No, not really. And that hurts.
But one tries to justify...I didn't do what I should've, I didn't follow through...it's my own fault. But then again, my avoidance of taking such actions inherently show my inability to truly believe in the notion that ends can be defined. So when I do end up following through and causing my own end, maybe then I'll feel like I had some sort of control.
Even if the end came because of a broken mind addicted to cycles; Truly then, it wasn't me, it was them.
When dealing with a place like this...truly, the end is whatever one wants it. If everything is, and isn't, at the same time...you can start to pick. "this is where I want that road to end", "this is where the ocean ends", and it happens. Would this give you the notion that what you decide means anything?
If it only means anything to you, because you chose it to be so?
I just stopped myself from saying what I wanted to say, because even though this is my mind, it is my understanding that there has to be someone reading.
Which is very sad.
In any case, the end never came, but I can't shake off this feeling that it can still happen. This though, is probably just me clinging to the one hope I have. One that was severly misplaced, my rational self says. My real self though, says that it doesn't matter anyway, just like all those people who fought and died for their heart.
And what did I do.
How many times can I say I'm tired, until the cycle repeats?
At least I understand the other half of the circle is more fun. And I understand that I am an ungrateful asshole, and that I brought this on myself.
But no, that's unfair, isn't it? One just plays with the cards you're dealt, and you have to deal with it...the same hand of cards can mean drastically different things to different people.
It doesn't take away any of the guilt though. I wish it did, but actually If I was pretending to be objective, I would say that this notion is what caused all this in the first place.
One longs to say "I did this myself", to yell "it's not fair" and put your foot down, then give yourself a pat in the back. But you don't deserve it, and you know and understand that you've done nothing. How could one possibly say such a thing, when you know just how bad you are. You hurt yourself, and you WANT to say that "it's bad", but you know in your heart that it's not. You know in your heart that you deserve much worse. And you struggle to understand all the people who genuinely have never felt the crippling need to end themselves. It seems like a fantasy, it probably is. People who say they don't talk to themselves, and don't hear voices that aren't there. That is not reality. It's just a matter of what their voices are saying. It can't be, it can't; someone who never felt like dying.
Yes, I understand this is the weakest, yes I'm sorry for that. Who cares.
It's still the same.
All that fucking work....
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21 May 2025 10:27 CEST
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