I am eating my dinner all by myself in my room. My door is shut. So are the windows. I can hear people bursting chocolate bombs outside. And no, I am beyond caring about any of it. My sleep is disturbed enough ... a few loud noises will hardly make a difference.
Today, I am afraid of quite a few things. I have to keep track of a lot of stray thoughts and discern my dream-memories from real ones. It is hardly an easy task, seeing that I am one given to drifting away into myself, where I have my own world to comfort me. And so, when I find myself walking down the road of reality, I often get rather confused. Did this actually happen, or had I only imagined that it had? Was I actually told to do this, or is this another imaginary conversation? I am also frightened by myself, and certain perceptions of mine. Words fail to be my friends and I feel choked by my inability to express what is bothering me. I have just lied to a very good friend and said that I am fine when I am quite obviously far from it. I feel horrible about it. Still, there is nothing I can do at present. Thankfully, I am not prodded and pushed, and I am grateful for that bit of empathy.
To be honest, I have never been one to directly say what is on my mind, especially when I am a bit troubled. I beat about the bush a lot. I vacillate. My circumlocutions are outrageous. It is actually a miracle that people still stick around to listen. Look at me now: it is exactly what I am doing. This is another instance of my being closed and withdrawn. Not that I have much of a choice anyway. It is the best way I have tackled things so far.
I know that I should face my fears head on. But I doubt whether I have the courage to do so. Yes, it is courage that I require. I don’t think that I have much of it though, and I loathe myself for this weakness of mine.
My dinner is cold. What I’m chewing feels like hardened gum. I wish that I were not quite so addicted to the Internet and lived a fresher existence. Yet, what can a depleted soul do but cling on to those figments that have become most precious? Reality can wait then, can’t it?
Today, I am afraid of quite a few things. I have to keep track of a lot of stray thoughts and discern my dream-memories from real ones. It is hardly an easy task, seeing that I am one given to drifting away into myself, where I have my own world to comfort me. And so, when I find myself walking down the road of reality, I often get rather confused. Did this actually happen, or had I only imagined that it had? Was I actually told to do this, or is this another imaginary conversation? I am also frightened by myself, and certain perceptions of mine. Words fail to be my friends and I feel choked by my inability to express what is bothering me. I have just lied to a very good friend and said that I am fine when I am quite obviously far from it. I feel horrible about it. Still, there is nothing I can do at present. Thankfully, I am not prodded and pushed, and I am grateful for that bit of empathy.
To be honest, I have never been one to directly say what is on my mind, especially when I am a bit troubled. I beat about the bush a lot. I vacillate. My circumlocutions are outrageous. It is actually a miracle that people still stick around to listen. Look at me now: it is exactly what I am doing. This is another instance of my being closed and withdrawn. Not that I have much of a choice anyway. It is the best way I have tackled things so far.
I know that I should face my fears head on. But I doubt whether I have the courage to do so. Yes, it is courage that I require. I don’t think that I have much of it though, and I loathe myself for this weakness of mine.
My dinner is cold. What I’m chewing feels like hardened gum. I wish that I were not quite so addicted to the Internet and lived a fresher existence. Yet, what can a depleted soul do but cling on to those figments that have become most precious? Reality can wait then, can’t it?
11 comments:
loneliness...of sorts i would say...but dont worry you are best the way you are
u remind me of me in some ways.... right now i cant imagine my life without the net... my escape... n yeah abt facing your fears, just close ur eyes n take the plunge... ull feel better once u do... tcz!!
Reality can always wait, my darling. I like having my meals in private too... with the TV, with a book, with my music. That way, I don't have to answer to anything or anyone or worry about entertaining. It's exhausting. We get enough of reality for most of the day... I think it would only be fair to escape from it at night. This is why I always look forward to going home alone :)
I don't anguish over the apparent decline of Europe's ruling class however I like this poem and I thought of it in relation to the spirit in your writing sloughing toward reality to be born; to be awake and alive and in the moment of what happens- I think they confuse it with being "HAPPY"
---------------
Turning and turning, in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Dear LD,
You are not alone in feeling that way. I, too, have never been able to tell someone how I'm really feeling even after knowing that he/she really cares and just wants to help.
It's an unhealthy way of dealing with problems, but for me it has a lot to do with my childhood when I was subjected to a lot of humiliation by adults I looked up to. Since those days, I have never completely trusted another human being.
I, too, sometimes wonder if something was said for real or if it was one of my imaginary conversations with the person concerned. It's funny how one can have more interesting conversations with a real person while fantasizing about it then when actually talking to him/her.
Love,
PG.
Gave me the creeps. No seriously.
"The Second Coming" by William Butler Yeats 13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939) was an Irish poet and dramatist, and one of the foremost figures of 20th-century literature. He was a driving force behind the Irish Literary Revival, and together with Lady Gregory and Edward Martyn founded the Abbey Theatre, and served as its chief during its early years. A pillar of the Irish literary establishment in his later years, Yeats was an Irish Senator for two terms. In 1923, he was awarded a Nobel Prize in Literature for what the Nobel Committee described as "inspired poetry."
awww LD, *tight hug*....why didnt you tell me that day when i asked whats wrong? Dont you worry ,am always here to listen to anything you want to say.
@sean- I am just curious to ask,that exactly how is The Second Coming related to what LD just wrote.I dont mean to be cheeky but I am a literature student but I dont really get the allusion.Explain perhaps?
Wish I didn't have Writer's Block. I could've said something worthwhile.
But well. Diwali and enjoyment go hand-in-hand for some people.
Retrospection, and bipolar excitement were the two fruitful juices extracted from it for me.
Meh.
Shreya: "curious to ask,that exactly how is The Second Coming related to what LD just wrote."
Sean: Absolutely nothing, (nor the apparent decline of Europe's ruling class) "however I like this poem ............. in relation to the spirit in.........the writing- sloughing in a state of deep despair, (maybe perhaps a little too strong) angry, indecisive, closed and withdrawn, wishing to live a fresher existence.
To be reborn.
its amazing how i find your blog posts resonating my feelings over and over again...
you need escapes..the net is ours.
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