Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Wow I had some stuff on my chest (a work in progress)

What is the self?
Does it matter at all if it exists?
tonight, i have been stuck in my mind, zooming in and out, from the experience of thinking my thoughts, to viewing them from way above. At the same time disjunctive and cohesive; continuous but with some 5th or 6th power variables.

This all started with X, X is a really important person in my life. Our relationship was kinda thrown out the window a few weeks ago, and to be honest, I am not handling it well.

X has a new partner who they are pretty serious about. I envy them. Both of them actually.

We are still in love. And I see them pretty often, but it is really hard. I don't want to be with anyone else. But being with me is not good for them. 

I am buried in my own mind. Everything has gotten so fucking BIG. nothing is the thing I first thought it was. Doors, tables, friends, professors, homework, money, nothing is safe.  Nothing is comfortable. Sometimes the prospect of walking into a room filled with desks, choosing one to sit at, taking off my jacket, tucking it carefully under my chair making sure to not impose on the space of the person who isn't going to sit next to me, its all just too much. I have found respite in consuming myself with taking notes during lectures, this helps, I no longer have to interact with the material, with the space, with the people, I just have to transpose the words coming in my ears to the page. Yet... I am still there, stuck in one spot for 50 minutes at a time. My skin crawls. The roar of the pressure of my socks on my ankles consumes the room. I am stuck. I cant move. What is happening to me?

I now weight less than I did in 8th grade.  But then I was like 5'4, now 5'7, and 21 years old, I am shrinking day by day. I am wasting away.  I fear having an eating disorder, so I eat obsessively. I eat so much more than most the people around me,

Who am I?

is the person have been acting as over the year my self?

Camus would say that we are the sum of our experiences. But what defines our experiences? We as people define the way we interact with reality. And memories change every time we look at them again.

Why is individualism even useful? How has it survived for so long just out of the field of public vision.

 Individualism has taught me to become an 'introvert'. It has taught me to look inside my 'self' for all of life's answers, on top of the questions worth asking. But that has resulted in me getting stuck! I dug a hole in my brain that now my blinds my eyes.

I need to live with people.
I need to live with people.
I NEED to live with people.
I need to live with PEOPLE.
I need to LIVE with people.

Who is this I that NEEDS? What happened to self-dependence? to independence? to freedom? to the fucking AMERICAN DREAM?

This has been the year when I realized exactly what kind of person Thoreau was. I idealized him for most of the last 5 years, but what kind of human being was he? A perfectionist. closed off and stuck, searching blindly for a way out. Well he found one, he thought. And he made solid progress, in many ways the things that he wrote down will go down in history. Yet, the pain he caused during his life was pretty incredible.

Is pain really that bad of a thing? Does not pain inspire change? Does not pain strip the silver linings off the memories already fading, conserving reserves of good things so that many more can come to be. Only to be stripped again.

Nevertheless, from what I have read, it is clear that the grand epitome of Thoreau's life isolated him from the world and tore the intravenous love dripping into his blood out of his arm.

Basically, I am sick of defining myself, of only doing what is comfortable, and of being in this body.

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