Monday, May 27, 2013

Not Exactly Like Riding a Bike

Tuesday afternoon, I am staring at the monitor trying to write an essay. Many don’t know how I feel about writing, as it’s not something you tell people without getting seeing that twinkle of doubt in people’s eyes, the sudden change in the tone of people’s voice trying to say something nice or at least a non insulting suggestion to me regarding my passion for writing even though deep inside they believe that I am full of crap and this “writing” is just a phase.  The last thing I need now is having more self doubt weighing me down like an anvil strapped to my back and thrown in to the sea, for those who don’t know my self esteem  as it is,  is already at a record low in the whole history of my uneventful, mediocre life bordering on depression and unimaginable thoughts. So I am trying to preserve every ounce of self esteem left I have so that I don’t wake up one day, going full retard and start doing things I will later regret.  I always regret things I do or say. It could be the things I said, things I did or how I felt, at the end of the day, regret is what I go to sleep with.
I’ll tell you this. I envy people. I envy the nonchalant careless ways of people loving their lives as if everything is fine like a child in the arms of his mother. No one can hurt them, it looks like as if at that very moment they are invincible with no fear in their heart, everything just seem so fucking fantastic. I envy people who open their eyes every morning with a spring in their step, raring to face the challenges that come and come out of it unscathed. It’s like the entire population on this planet are superman. Or maybe they are mere mortals who think they are superman and they are oblivious to the impending doom. For some reason it feels like everyone is in the matrix. Why can’t people feel the pain, the troublesome reality of life as I see it? Could it be that the one who cares the most feels the most pain?
This definitely did not go the way I had envisioned it to be. My attempt to write or at least think of a topic to write about turned into this ridiculously dark, depressing journey through the corners of my mind. Always know that it’s there but never knew it’s this depressing. I had to stop myself from going too deep so that this wont sound like a suicide note or a note before someone goes out on a shooting spree or start sounding like a crazy person.
No I am not depressed in any way.  I just feel like I have to release all of this in order to get the juice going. Some sort of a emotional/creativity stagnant that’s in my way. Feels good.

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