Aug 2017
We meet here again.
In a day of nothing and nowhere, I have remained here all day, yet now you appear.
The angry mob coalescing in my head, asking how I have wasted the day, chastising me, a child who doesn't know any better.
But I do know better, we have had this argument before you and I, perhaps it was years, perhaps just weeks. I'm 21 now and my mind is still as vicious as it was when I was 18. Will I have these thoughts when I'm 60? Are we always unwilling roommates to an insatiable in-complacency? What do I gain from the constant chatter, the angry noise, the self hate. Because if it had something to offer I feel by now it would have happened. Instead I carry you, my back sore and legs weak, I climb mountains and valleys knowing I will be attacked again each night. Is that life? Is it all just contradiction constantly fighting itself like a snake biting its own tail? Is this the hard truth that everyone seems too scared to speak, the one we sweep under the rug through alcohol and drug abuse, just trying to get a soundless night? See the more I think about it the more confused I become. Without this duality, this mind who points out my failings while offering no help. Would I be complacent, would compliantly work? Since I turned 18 I've been in a constant state of worry, worry about my future, about my place in the world, about what the old man at the bus stop is thinking when he looks at me. It's a pervasive worry that seeps in and poisons any fresh water I try to drink, where I find good times and joy it is the stranger in the corner reminding me I'm not safe. And I wonder how life would be without it, see I think of it as a curse, as the devil on my back but where would I be without it? Would I be happy to lay where I lay now as I write? This same spot I've found myself nearly every night, would I be happy to sink into the floor boards of my home and exist for the rest of my days? I don't know, I don't know if this dread, this anger, this hateful mind. Is the only thing saving me from painting myself into the same four walls that have cages me for the 21 years of existence I possess. But what do I know, this is just another aimless thought that goes nowhere but digs deep into the pit of my stomach, instilling that existential fear inside of me that I mentioned. Another day wasted, you should remember that.
In a day of nothing and nowhere, I have remained here all day, yet now you appear.
The angry mob coalescing in my head, asking how I have wasted the day, chastising me, a child who doesn't know any better.
But I do know better, we have had this argument before you and I, perhaps it was years, perhaps just weeks. I'm 21 now and my mind is still as vicious as it was when I was 18. Will I have these thoughts when I'm 60? Are we always unwilling roommates to an insatiable in-complacency? What do I gain from the constant chatter, the angry noise, the self hate. Because if it had something to offer I feel by now it would have happened. Instead I carry you, my back sore and legs weak, I climb mountains and valleys knowing I will be attacked again each night. Is that life? Is it all just contradiction constantly fighting itself like a snake biting its own tail? Is this the hard truth that everyone seems too scared to speak, the one we sweep under the rug through alcohol and drug abuse, just trying to get a soundless night? See the more I think about it the more confused I become. Without this duality, this mind who points out my failings while offering no help. Would I be complacent, would compliantly work? Since I turned 18 I've been in a constant state of worry, worry about my future, about my place in the world, about what the old man at the bus stop is thinking when he looks at me. It's a pervasive worry that seeps in and poisons any fresh water I try to drink, where I find good times and joy it is the stranger in the corner reminding me I'm not safe. And I wonder how life would be without it, see I think of it as a curse, as the devil on my back but where would I be without it? Would I be happy to lay where I lay now as I write? This same spot I've found myself nearly every night, would I be happy to sink into the floor boards of my home and exist for the rest of my days? I don't know, I don't know if this dread, this anger, this hateful mind. Is the only thing saving me from painting myself into the same four walls that have cages me for the 21 years of existence I possess. But what do I know, this is just another aimless thought that goes nowhere but digs deep into the pit of my stomach, instilling that existential fear inside of me that I mentioned. Another day wasted, you should remember that.
(21/M/Hull)
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