mercoledì 8 febbraio 2012


Woke up for the twentieth morning in a rown with a cloud in my brain. And each day it takes different cotton-like shape. It feels and tastes like sour milk and cigarette smoke. Often it has the aftertaste odf the couple of cigarettes that i might have ended up smoking the night before, lonely and pponderous ayt an icy temperature on a balcony covered with remains of dirty, mud like snow.

It's an addiction as it has hardly been before, it was more innocent back then. Yes, i drank like a sucidal person and with that came packs and packs of swiftly shaped venom. But there was a purpose behind that. Maybe standing outside with other addicts like you, rambling about pointless topic, heòlped by the noble power alcohol has to make even the most pathetic and vile of verbal self degradations seem so clear and necessary at some times.

Now it's a fight with myself. An"i shall quit, only one". Followed by a few tokes of nausea inducing crap that cause me anxiety and self hatred.

And when i wake up the toughts collide in my head. I have little money. Im practically unemployed. I feel pointless and hopeless. I am loved but i dont deserve that love, because i cannot do anything really good for those who love me because im impotent in my condition. And anxiety, spread all over the place like rotten jam.

And realizing, every day more, how the world hasnt change around me. Neither have i changed. Age hasnt brought disenchantmenbt or worries. It hasnt given me lucidity or being outdates. A lot of the failkyures i suyrrounded myself with in my twenties are still failures now. And we are all fighting against a life that feels like a slow trickling poison that is killing our souls with a slow, gangrenous death and taking away its very own energy.

But what is really killing me is how apathy has won. It always won in the past but never quite like this. This is when you realize that the only two options are either letting your own heart die inside of you or slip into despair because you keep trying to fix things but they break to pieces, smaller and smaller under your hands.

And whenever you swam out of the shit pool you feel like it was pointlesssince nothing has changed and youre exactly where you wer ebefore. And fights are won, but wars just get bigger and bigger.

And you look around. And the passions you had are now something that slows you down. Music is heard, not listened to. Its there, all alike, like a nuimb lifeless sound in the background to which no one besides teenagers who still have their brains filled up with delusions of hope. Its something that exists but no one really loves. And other form of art, entertainment, beauty. Its all one big cloud of stuff that you have there but you barely notice.

And slowly, indifference has become a necessity, because everything you loved costs you money and time and an investment that keeps getting more and more fruitless and empty. And you tell yourself that you're doing it for your own pleasure, that passions are what makes life better. But the silent truth in the deeper layers of your heart is that, maybe, you dont really care anymore. And that you would feel much lighter if you were like everyone else, numb, detached, focused on single daily goals like survival and enrichment. Ignorant and indifferenty, only retaining the infromations that you will need for the next ten minutes. Spending times with people and having sexual intercourse. Not loving.

All it takes to get there is a second for your brain to give up. And its getting harder to resist.

Nessun commento:

Posta un commento