In Retrospect…

Written on March 26, 2008:

It seems like life-altering revelations only happen in movies. Like, somebody says something or does something that makes the other completely change his facial expression to express that he has seen the light and all of a sudden he’s a brand new person, with a new purpose in life and a nice big smile on his face. That’s bullshit. Nobody changes that drastically… unless it’s the other way around. That is, being a happy, fun-loving person and experiencing something horrible that makes that person turn into a neurotic, depressed, angry basket case in a matter of minutes. It happened to him and almost simultaneously happened to me, as it has many other times in my life.

Regaining my senses during the other times always took about a year or two, and all the self-healing that I’ve achieved during that time would always be obliterated in an instant when I would experience yet another atrocious event. Over and fucking over again, two years to heal, two minutes to get completely fucked up again, another two years to heal again, and yet again fall into the abysmal hell with an even more powerful velocity than before, helplessly trying to find a way out of this solitary confinement shithole for another several years…

Is this God’s idea of a joke? Is my life supposed to be an endless attempt to heal myself? Sure, we are all in a long process of self-burial, so healing entirely would be impossible because that would mean immortality, and frankly, I prefer any abysmal hell over that. But somehow, we managed to convince ourselves that if we are not dead, then we must be alive… and somehow, I just don’t feel that.

Alive? Seriously, I feel far, far away from that.

There are things that make me feel alive but that are temporary and would make me feel even worse when they’re over – drugs and sex, which are not always readily available and involve an enormous amount of risk. With drugs, when the high is over, the crash is horribly painful and terrifying. And with sex, an intense orgasm can suddenly make way for excruciating guilt and shame, and in my case also fear of abandonment.

Love cannot make me feel alive, not anymore. Love is uncertain in essence, and it is this uncertainty that terrifies me knowing that at any moment it could end. And fear, for me, is a feeling worse than anything.

Then there’s music – my perfect addiction. The only risks that music involves is potential deafness if cranked up to ear-perforating levels, a sore neck if headbanging is inevitable, and a sore throat if growling along is also inevitable, but the spiritual effect is instantaneous and lasts longer than an orgasm or any given high. I trust music to never abandon me, unless my battery runs out, but that’s irrelevant because I can always recharge it. Pain, fear, guilt, shame, all other negative energies dissipate and I rise into an aura of positive entities, that bring light into whatever abyss I fell into at that given time and show me the way out, even if for a little while.

So music does make me feel alive because I know that without it, I would have been dead, buried and forgotten long ago.

Still, I want to be able to use that positive feeling without fearing the inevitable cycle of pain-healing-pain. I want to feel alive while being able to feel pain, empathy and compassion without being entirely overtaken by it. I want to love passionately while avoiding the fear and the naiveté that may come along with that. I want to trust people even if I hate them.  

Enough already, I’ve fucking had it with this shit. I’m sick of my senses and lack thereof, sick of my core of pain, sick of this corpse I’ve been stuffed into against my will, sick of my psychological self-rape… I want to erase everything, and just be happy, be truly happy, once and for all.


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