Relapse

A person’s description can be described by its habits, its appearance, its personality. Many are the traits we gather through time and many are the experiences we collect to become a certain vessel of our self. Picture it as going to the theater and watching a show to discover new things in the same show. Observing the very well-known characters as if you were seeking to discover something new or different from your previous views. Only to realize that they were part of the persona all along. Were they were ignored, overlooked or undervalued by the expectations of what you wished to see? Were they neglected by the self projection of a fantasy?

Have we missed something important that we might have cared about before?

Every heartbeat comes one after the other for the sole purpose of satisfying a hunger of many values. Is this an emotion you seek? Is this an element you need? Is this a piece of essence that you sate on? Does this really fill the void you so require to stuff with whatever you can gather?

It does help. At first.

We are like animals. Feasting and consuming anything we can. Hoarding or scavenging piles of dust to attach ourselves to. We unlock a part of ourselves, a window to our visage. Slowly opening the lid of a shell and accepting a new gift with open arms. With no clue or care for the consequences. Just this singular objective of suppressing the starvation.

Until… you feel nothing. Calm and in content. Free from the hankering thirst.

That is when the curtains drop.

The end of the show.

While basking in it. I start to hear whispers of reality getting louder and they drag me back to the theater seat. Silhouettes of people reappearing in the nearby empty seats. The vision of tranquility that was once constructed is crumbling and fading away into what we so call reality. I try to reach for something to grab on and lift myself up. But the pain in my arms are unable to answer. I still get up and start to exit the room to a silent crowded street. People are flowing in different directions, some go along together making faces and grins to each other as they move their limbs without trouble. The dampening silence that was once present is letting their whispers speak volumes. Conversations and emotions are shared throughout this amalgamation of beings. They seem to have either forgotten what they are or ignoring the fact that ‘it’ is still part of them…

“No matter”

The hunger, has returned.

What was the point of it? My mind cannot comprehend the vanishing feeling of stillness that leaves its place to dissension and agony. Is everyone around me failing to see how it burns? Or have they found a way to replace these disorders with illusions of their own craft? It now seems absurd to go through all the trouble of masking and hiding the evidences that makes you alive.

Either way your excuses will sound something along the lines of “it is about survival.”

… And I do not care any longer.

I laugh in woe at them.

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Scarring our Life.

We all share a common primitive language that is driven by our feelings and we believe that we are entitled to them like it is our birthright. In some sense, we are. But how right is it that a feeling is strong enough to compel us to subjugate anyone or everyone to it? I guess that is an open debate.

I often forget how much influence our memories can have, impacting our self. It usually doesn’t take much: a simple word, an image or anything that overloads your senses and BOOM! I now go down a memory lane I thought gone. I now flashback to a nice recollection of ruined memories. And the worse part is that this spark that sets off will most likely try to hinder me every time I try to accomplish or experience something.

Maybe, ‘The Joker’ was right:
“You of all people should know, there’s nothing so cruel as memory…. the pointy biting little thunderbolts, unwanted party crashers, SCREAMERS through your synapses.. inescapable, unrelenting…. not at all friendly. You can’t even escape into MADNESS!”

Or maybe it’s just about how I walk on a line that gets thinner as I walk on it. And the fall would lead me down to gaze at nothing. Would that still be me?

Every step is like a new puzzle. A challenge that blurs the path I walk on. As I stay still and thinking about stepping forward, I see what I walk to and what I leave behind. And it is a battle of keeping me still on this line.

But you know what? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter to you or to anyone else in this world but a few who really care. Because you’ve got your own ‘line’ to walk on. And it gives you the privilege of ignoring, not caring and not even considering the fact that the path you try to walk on could potentially cut off some paths or even lead to destroying others. How convenient.

I can understand and accept that everyone is entitled to put themselves above everything else. It is just fair to look after yourself. Anyone would do the same.

Conflict does not form itself through diversity. It grows through the intolerance of that diversity. Denying others from what they are or impeding their progression. It then proceeds to evolve into a much more realistic issue. Some will struggle and some will strive to go forward. But that conflict has marked them for life. Like a stone with fissures.

There is no cure and no fixing to the consequences of conflicts as they get engraved. And some are now carrying rubbles. Was it really their own fault and mistake that brought them their own misery? Perhaps.

Trying to preserve what is left of yourself is not an easy battle. Sometimes it feels like sitting in a dark room with a spotlight directed at you, burning your eyes and your skin. Or having some ghastly tortured bodiless versions of yourself trying to tear themselves out of your head and limbs as if they were unwillingly trapped inside you. Or hearing a constant anguishing scream howling through your mind although there is no sound around you. This is somewhat how it feels like to be on the verge of insanity.

Keeping it together in this chaos usually relies on asking yourself just a single question:

“What are you going to do about it? Your time and those of others depend on that answer.”

Fear will catch on to you.

Aside from Memory

Many are the things we collect with time. Some are objects. Some others are connections. You carry them with you without having to lift them. They are like words, colors, sounds in your inner senses. Such a precious and fragile thing they are. They are the reflection of who you have been and what you are going through. But this realm has its own laws and lets say that their limits are your capabilities of constructing a thought. What they are is purely ethereal. They are like past ghosts of yourself wandering around the corridors of animated paintings on the wall. This labyrinth that defies the laws of physics is holding your life in a network of a chaotic maze. Every room is shaped differently than the previous and it doesn’t seem to follow any logic of order.

But it has no impact howsoever to the real world but to yourself. It’s a mental clockwork that builds itself on it.

These corridors of the self past gives life and form to your reflections. Even as ephemeral as they can be, their impact is quite as strong as an idea in your mind. It never goes away unless you manage to accept or prove that the idea is wrong.

But what happens to those who never get a chance to disprove themselves? Especially to the ones that triggers the clockwork in the opposite way. Are they condemned to haunt these immaterial structures so that they can ruin the construction of this palace of mirrors?

“So what? You’re letting the clockwork go back and forth eternally? As if you had no power to dismantle it and rebuild it. You made this place!”

That’s where we’re wrong about. This ‘place’ is not something built by someone. It is built by the many lives we share ours with and the thoughts we gather in that moment. Not everyone controls all these things. Some are even addicted to have the presence of others praise to them.

“You’re blaming the existence of others to justify a defect… in your construction?”

Short answer: no. But I can’t say that my construction has come to life without them. I don’t hold them responsible but they are concerned.

“I’m not sure I follow. We’re talking about your…
… how do others really affect or change what really happened?”

Because it doesn’t matter…

And that is the whole point.

Will any of these creatures living in ‘it’ accept this fact?