I am afraid. Not of situations, or people, or events, but of those things leading to the end. I have no fear of the future, only the fear that I'll not have one. No fear of what someone might say or do to me, but of where that person's words or actions may lead me. I'm not afraid of terrible moments in my life, only of what may come because of those moments. Any one of them may be enough to send me on my way out, so I do my best to avoid them all; and in doing so, I stop living, I only resemble life. I cease the one thing I am afraid to lose, all because I am afraid to lose it.

These moments, and lack of moments, make up my life, and they are not at all worth fighting for.

Sometimes I have moments where I wish to fast-forward through my life and get to the end. After all, every life leads to the same place, and aren't we really just wasting our time on this pointless blue rock?

I've realized why I can't bring myself to finish a certain story: I am the main character, and I am afraid of reaching the end and realizing that eternity really does exists.


Forgetfulness...


"In the cosmos
There is balm as well as bitterness
And that balm is Nepenthe."

"After I've slept many dreams, I go out to the street with eyes wide open but still with the aura and assurance of my dreams. And I'm astonished by my automatism, which prevents others from really knowing me. For I go through daily life still holding the hand of my astral nursemaid; my steps are in perfect accord with the obscure designs of my sleeping mind. And I walk in the right direction; I don't stagger; I react well; I exist.

Sometimes I muse about how wonderful it would be if I could string all my dreams together into one continuous life, a life consisting of entire days full of imaginary companions and created people, a false life which I could live and suffer and enjoy.

When it's time, I show up at the office like everyone else. When it's not time, I go to the river to gaze at the river, like everyone else. I'm no different. And behind all this, O sky my sky, I secretly constellate and have my infinity.

I've always clearly seen that I coexist with the world. I've never clearly felt that I needed to coexist with it. That's why I've never been normal."

- Fernando Pessoa

There are times that I hope to wake up as a new person. I concern myself with the thought of falling to sleep at night and waking the next morning with a different mind, one that isn’t polluted with the thoughts mine so often has. It is a sense of purification, of cleansing my mind while I sleep; an exchange for a more stable mind, a better mind. And yet, my mind is me. At least, it is what I feel is me. The thoughts and images that come along with the involuntary acquirement of my brain dress me and fill me and instill in me wishes for nonexistence.

The only problem with my plan is the limitations of my mind. Insomnia could be considered a fail-safe, in case I devise such a grand idea to rid myself of my delusions. Yet, those delusions have conspired against me; the thoughts against the thinker. My mind is truly my enemy.

I often feel that I am the only person awake in the entire world. Then my thoughts shift into a place that questions whether there is a world or not. I think of the possibility that I am dreaming myself as actually being awake, or that the world that I see and feel isn't actually there at all; it is a copy of a world, as I feel displaced among it and everything in it. I have a paranoia that everyone is acting in place, playing a role where I am the lead character, watching my movements and reading my thoughts. At other times there is no audience and no one watching, and I am alone.

When I was a little boy I would have a recurring thought that I was a part of something much bigger than myself, and it was put in place for me, perhaps even by me. At a young age I was questioning the possibility of everything being in my head; that I was connected to this reality by means that I cannot see or comprehend. I currently have moments where I expect the world to tear away and reveal some true, hidden meaning that is completely different from what I am used to experiencing. I sometimes get the feeling that it is all a test, that I am being evaluated by something I can't currently understand. And perhaps when I stop existing, the world does as well. There are moments that, when people leave my sight, I question them existing at all. I am afraid that one day I will turn around and nothing will be there. And that feels very real to me, like any moment the face of the world I know will change and present me with a place so unknown and alien to me that I lose my mind, if I haven't done so already.