(no subject)
It feels weird. How did I get here?
There's too much and certainly not enough of all the wrong goddamn things.
It looks a little like I've recoiled in bitterness or defeat. To be point blank, it's become uncomfortably hard to convince myself otherwise. I'm paranoid and self-depreciating, holed up my tower every night alone. Where is everyone? Where am I? Seriously, what's going on ... I don't know how to do any of this shit anymore. Once I came to lack a basic curiosity and daring confidence, well, what the fuck am I but a bundle of nervous personality disorders and self-loathing inclinations to NEVER be sober and alone with myself for more than several hours at once. I don't even really consider changing that. I enjoy being a delusional hypocrite far too much, here on the end of the rope.
Maybe this is for the best. I was becoming more arrogant and self-indulgent every miserable, insufficient day. Perhaps now I can burn down to basics and reevaluate my image and priorities. I could mold them from reflection and discipline if I could force myself from my hate into necessary structures of active revision. I don't actually know what else is left. It appears that any alternate route has been swallowed in mistake and change. Theoretical remedies of adult social situations give me anxiety.
My name, my record, my resources, my abilities, my will. It feels like the harder I fought against being chained to something, the more buried and locked I became in the disguised realities of price and freedom. In gradually sensing the particularities of my limitations and weaknesses, my constant ability to remain steady and clear is clouded and displaced in this common frustration - this avoidable indulgence of despotism that I find so fated. I refuse to forge a path in fear or doubt or practical inability. Running around in the same circles makes me sick and dizzy but I can't stop staring at the ground while it spins downward like I'm falling through unseen levels of atmosphere, away from every single thing.
Wish I could live there, suspended between the layers of space like that. The closest communication is communal - and so the fists are outstretched and upside down, one waiting to be slapped and the other, withdrawn as the forgone option. For me, this isn't enough as a situation. I literally need to have a gun held to my head in order to spark some kind of interest in progression and development.