It's been many years since the last time I've made an entry akin to a vent. Maybe more like a self evaluation. I suppose this is the only place I could put it; where it is hidden, but existing outside my mind.
The apathy I'm experiencing, nihilistic as always, is so intense. The struggle for meaning, purpose, reason... it's all so pointless. We are all just primates, feed-backing into our brain's electro-chemical reactions. Love, fear, annoyance, frustration, sadness, empathy. All things experienced through the narrow sense of self, egocentrism, is just the product of hundreds of millions of years of evolution. All devices to push the survival of the species.
I am several years out of the last relationship. There are things I miss. There are many that I do not. The things I desire, that make me feel good, are made of water. I try to grasp them, and they slip through my fingers.
Escapism has been effective. Finding stories through several mediums, connecting with fictional circumstance, riding the wave of emotion.... It's really no different than masturbation. Mere gratification, so hollow. To feel the unreal, is also a waste of time.
I think a lot about two or three women I've known. The sheep, the siren, and the succubus, in my mind. Each alluring, comforting, familiar, but ultimately.... not my match, my equal, my 'other half'. Not to seem delusional, I must say that I mean, generally, that person with whom I share a sense of belonging. I can want, and I can be wanted. That doesn't mean we want each other. Perhaps, for them, I merely filled a hole in their life like a patch on a boat. A temporary fit until they could make it back to port and get it right.
The anger I feel... I don't know what it is, exactly. It's like a mix of frustration, self-hate, and righteous indignation. But not quite. I don't know if it qualifies as a form of depression. I live my life the way I deem moral, or 'right'. Keeping to my own code. That doesn't include being nice as a default, which definitely makes me come across as hostile, instead of neutral. And I can't fault the interpretation - it's true. I am very angry. A "fire rages inside". Mad at the world for the inability to reach consensus. To me, in my pragmatism, seems an easy solution; to many others seems cold and calculating, and doesn't account for the feelings of others.
Mad at myself for being unable to decide on a single course of action which could improve either myself, or my world extending outwards evermore. I squander my time and energy on the machine. I am but a cog that functions adequately. I work my 40, I pay my taxes, and I buy things as needed or wanted. How utterly devoid of merit or meaning.
To whom do I matter? What could I offer, that another cannot?
The answer is: not a damned thing. We are all so replaceable. Ephemeral.
I feel like I've said this all before. Maybe I haven't. Either way, this has all been playing through my mind tens of thousands of times over the years.
If I ask myself the simple question: what do I want?
I'll answer back: to feel the elation brought on my connecting with another, wholly. To be understood, valued. Again, to achieve the sense of belonging.
I can't fault myself this desire. I am only human. Humans are social creatures. Better that I could exist outside of flesh. Easier to not exist at all.
I simply cannot achieve my desire. It requires trust, and that is something I can no longer give. I know, in my mind, that I act with honesty. I may not always speak the truth, but I will act on the truth inside. It is easier to be myself, by upholding honesty, which brings consistency, reliability.
My last relationship, I ended because I finally won against my despair. I cannot settle for mediocrity, for 'getting along', for a mere companion. I had despaired to be alone. But it is better to be alone than to be with those that make you feel alone. I should never feel shame for acting true to myself.
However, the despair has resurfaced, in some form. And that is why I'm here, typing this all out. I hate thinking back, regretting, believing that I may have messed up in the past. Maybe I have already encountered someone with whom I belong. It is such a difficult judgement call. But surely, I have not? After all, those that came before have moved on, and never looked back my way.
And so, looking ahead? I see only more of the same. And the true despair exists in front of me now, this yawning chasm, infinite, so empty. I want to scream out in anger.
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