Oblivion in smoke. The wind blows violently. Windows protect me. Cold spring. I hear sounds that I cannot discern. They sound like the motor of a freezer, an electronic device. No one can hear but I don’t speak. My internal screams would wake up the whole city. They are but echoes of my pain. Reflections of my trauma. I can scream all I want in my writing. “Aaah!”. Nobody can hear it but those who read it. I’m apparently normal. Normal speech, normal actions. Too normal to be mentally ill and yet, too mentally ill to be normal. I am my own island and I’m stranded here. Nobody can reach me and I can’t leave this place. I have rooms full of memories and rooms full of forgetfulness. I built a castle on my island. Like Enya, I live there alone with my cats. Cats know what true love is. They will meow for food all day but still sleep with you, even if you don’t feed them. They understand and they know that is just an exceptional event, their bowl will be full as soon as possible. Cats understand and I understand cats. Cats care but they don’t care. They selectively care about you. Maybe not in this instant, you call him and he doesn’t even look in your direction. But later, he will look for your lap. Warmth and cuddles are needed, at that time. He cares then and I feel privileged to be the object of his affection.
There is no war going on in the night. No loud sounds, no clouds, no car noises. There are only dreams and thoughts. No pressure. Nobody asks for anything, apart from the occasional horny guy on my dm’s. Those are annoying but easy to spot. Why would anyone invite you to go to their house, at 3 am?
My headphones drown out the sounds from the exterior. “We’re now approaching midnight”- says DJ Shadow. We’re approaching 3 am here. My body doesn’t like to fall asleep before midnight. When it does, I always wake up a few hours later, just like today. But I feel glad to wake up at these times. It’s odd but I do. I do love the night. It’s so charming and quiet. You feel protected and secure, if you’re at home. Outside is another story. I don’t like being outside when it’s late. You never know who you might encounter. Dark streets and corners, shady people in cars, you never know. But home feels like my fort. A place of dreams and feelings. Somewhere I’ll never forget. As I won’t forget my friend J, who took his own life last year. I wish I knew how much he was suffering and that I could’ve helped him. I couldn’t, no one could. He was a grown man, it was his responsibility. It’s amazing how an addiction can change someone. How vulnerable and out of control we become. The madness we live in. Wrong choices like an obligation. We are wired to do things that don’t help us. Every time we do it, we reinforce it. Every time we don’t do it is a victory. But being victorious and healthy sometimes isn’t enough. We have to get in that mindset. I was in that mindset but a bottle of wine made me change my mind. A few months later, I’m still smoking weed. For the first time in my life, I feel like it’s not harming me. I was so depressed last time I quit. My life didn’t change like I thought it would. My energy levels were still so low. Now, I feel better. I take less medication and my brain is working better. But I always have something in the back of my mind that tells me that I should quit. My parents hate it, I should quit for them. I know I can do it. I just want to talk to my psychiatrist first. My depression must be addressed again. Showering is getting harder. I see friends but I still isolate myself. I feel stuck. It feels like quicksand. This life is swallowing me whole. Why am I like this? I should have a normal life. I can’t adapt. I don’t make many choices, which is shame. Those choices will be done for me and probably won’t be very beneficial. Terrified of the future, I worry every day. Incapable of being responsible, I depend on everybody. Responsibility scares me. I guess I’m still not grown up. I thought I’d have my shit together by now.
In days of hope, everything is easier. In days of hopelessness, everything seems so far away and unattainable. There is hope and hopelessness inside my mind. Cognitive dissonance. Hopeful and hopeless: how can this be? At least my writing is still evolving and my blog isn’t dead. It’s been hard to maintain it, lack of motivation and discipline are enemies of hard work. But I’ve been somewhat constant, keeping writing on my mind and as a goal. I’m not the best writer but I know that I’m not bad. Though sometimes I even doubt that and feel like a talentless loser. My words are my heart and mind. They allow me to process to happens to me and to understand it better. Keeping a journal is an excellent exercise and to share my journey with so many people is a blessing. I feel so supported and loved here. This is probably the best online community that I’ve been a part of. I try to keep up with all your blogs but it’s hard. Sometimes I don’t have enough spoons to comment, so there are fewer and fewer comments on my posts. Networking is really important and I suck at it.
I’m going to meditate before I sleep, using an app that I’ve subscribed. I will review that app as soon as possible, as I like it and feel like it can be a simple way to start meditating.
I wish you all a good night.