I want to say things, out loud to people, but it's like a brick wall stops me. No, a neutronium wall, which stops me. Secrets that I hate about myself. A lot of the things I hate about myself aren't 'me', but things 'about' me. Does that make sense? I don't hate myself, not really. I have enough true self awareness to realize that I'm not inherently evil, because I recognize the evil in myself and hate that instead. But, it's still something which is attached to me, and it's easy to confuse it with myself.
I think there's a core to my self which is separate from evil, but is addicted to it. When I say EVIL, I don't mean bloody fangs and murderous rage and hatred for him and her and them. I mean... things about me which I hate. Simple evil. Evil that's not necessarily recognizable. The worst kind, I guess. Heck, I don't know. Personal evil. The kind that hurts only the people around me that I love, as opposed to the kind that would make me famous, like Hitler evil. Anyway. That kind of evil... the worst, I suppose... for me anyway. That's the kind which is attached to me, which I can't shake off. And I hate it, like it hates me. It's a working relationship. I never knew about it, not really, until about four and a third years ago. It's good to know it's there, though. If evil can make me feel good at all, then that good feeling comes from recognizing it, because if you can't recognize despair, then you'll never know hope.
For most of my life I've been just one little teeny tiny soul out of a gadzillion which have lived and died and are living right now... just one, but my own life has seemed so all encompassing. How can it not have? I'm a self contained observation of the universe. How can I ever ever understand anything or anyone other than myself? How can I ever connect to the real existence of life, and understand that my own personal conscious awareness isn't just this little, compressed singularity of despair? If I ever ever understand that, then I think I'll understand that the despair I feel never existed, because I'm not alone. Right? Whoever you are, if you are reading this, is reading this. Therefore, I'm not alone. You've felt this way, right? Or have you? How can you not have? Maybe it's my ego trying to assert itself again, wishing that I'm not the only one to be terrified. But if you add up all the terrified souls, surely it's got to come out to a positive number. It's math, right? Somewhere in there?
Last night, I went to sleep, trying to imagine the trees of that dream. I've mentioned it before, here and there, to people and online and whatnot. That dream, up in the trees, where I could spend eternity. That feeling I get, when I think about that dream I had, 10 years ago, of just existing up there, in the dark, in the trees, changeless and absurd in it's apathetic attractiveness. I awoke 30 minutes later. I was breathing, really hard. Fast. Breathing about 5 times a second, over and over, in a terrified panic. I was terrified, trapped in between awake and asleep for what seemed a timeless period, but which had to have been less than 30 minutes at least. I awoke, breathing like that, feeling like I was about to die, terrified out of my mind, like I was about to die, saying out loud:
"I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid."
I woke myself up saying that. I thought my mom was there, and that she was holding me, but it was my pillow... I thought it was my mom for a while though. That's what brought me out of it. It was terrible. Just absolutely terrible. Hateful. It was hell, for a little while.
I don't know where I'm going with this rambling monologue, changing subjects and stuff. Just saying it I guess, so that it's not still just in my head. Getting it out, so I won't have it in me and feel so alone with it and be so scared of it. That's all, I suppose. I'ma sleep now.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Three years and two weeks and I still think about her every day, I still feel her lack of presence like a phantom limb, and I'm still a retarded goof ball in love. It'll be interesting to see how long this keeps up. In other news, I completely forgot about the Jazz Fest this weekend. That sure was a fun time at the Jazz Fest back in 2009, when we she and I and my sister and John all went together. That was fun. I miss her. Really a bunch. A whole lot... dang. Awww man, I just realized I might be stuck with these feelings for the rest of my life.