Another One

21 09 2015

I know I have remembered much of this year, but when I try to savor specific memories, I think about things that are merely tangential, like catching glimpses of myself out the corner of my eyes.

I can never decide if I am beautiful or ugly, pretentious or original, depressed or happy. I can hardly recall a time when I did not reside in this O-shaped zone of ambiguity. It covers me like a fuzzy shadow. I do not have a passport out, and I would not want to move further in.

When did my mind become a jagged, sharp-edged thing? Always evaluating, defining, criticizing.

I miss the simplicity of childhood, of first love, but wasn’t it, wasn’t I, still full of doubt and self-awareness, even then?

The ambiguity is why I am having such a hard time. Within this haze, my sorrow is something wholly unambiguous, and I cannot keep off it. I am aware. This awareness does not help.

A sentient being is a life form that is aware of itself.

I could do with a bit less sentience these days. When you are wounded and bleeding out dark, hot arterial blood, observing and critiquing the shape of the wound, and surmising about its cause is less than useful. Forensics is not what you do straight away. I am not sure what you should do straight away, however.

Currently I am trying to feel the pain, study the pain, feel the pain, distract from pain, speculate about the nature of pain, trying to enjoy the pain, writing about the cause of pain in oblique references. I am also at times overwhelmed by the pain, which is when I know it was stupid to try and enjoy the pain.

With somewhat less sentience I wouldn’t be hating these words as soon as I type them, or hating myself for falling in love despite having the sense to know better, or do I hate myself for having that sense at all? It’s further condemnation, isn’t it? An error committed knowingly. I should have run.

Knowing the aliveness of it. I will miss the obliteration of physical pain.

Knowing I can be muted. I will miss that blessed silence of the brain.

I will miss. I will miss. That pulverant voice in my ear telling me I am good, so good, so fucking good.

It isn’t easy, being this stupid.

Because

I would do it again. I would I would I would.


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