I feel like my writing is getting worse day by day just like my mind. Not able to filter out clear thoughts I am struggling. Struggling to come out of my dissolution. Fearing that my dissolution might merge my memories and emotions. I go havoc and defensive in order to protect my sanity. Unable to do, I am going insane with instincts of doubts and confusions.
Not able to understand who I am and who I was before. What am I lacking and what am I gathering. Is it sustainable or is it modifying my behavior and emotions. I tried reforming these aspects, but there are just too many external interference interacting with my internal dysfunctional traits. I hope to change it and it is recuperating but the recuperation is foiled with stones and cracks, slowing down the process and making me weak.
I hate it, I feel hostile towards it. But I have no choice, I am still toiling hard by enduring and not giving up. Fearing that if I give up, I am just lost.
Its heartbreaking, I decay and die. I wake up from those ashes like the Phoenix bird which still carries the instinctual spirit of fire (will) and gets transformed. But then I still carry those merged sorrowful memories of hate, hostility, distrust, disgust, criticism, blame, comment, fear, jealousy embarrassment and dislike; whose presence I can feel in every presumption. Every instinct of my actions reminds me of my past experiences making me hyper vigilant and cautious in every step I move forward. With doubts and confusion my foundations are being laid which makes me nauseous and pity. Focusing hard to make my fundamentals stable so that I can withstand the test of time. In much more better way so that nobody and no one could ever damage me like before. So that I do not resign.
Because resignation is like a choatic peace it will trouble you and leave you with absurdity. Not knowing whether the choice was right or wrong. Finding evidence through feelings but if that emotions are illusory towards that situation then one is lost in maya. Such is the fate of life. So I resigned for the little betterment I was craving for which in the end passed upon me and gave me that little betterment to the fullest level. Hence I was able to lay and move with much better foundations.
So was my story of resignation!
There is nothing to write, my mind is howling. With voidness masking my conscious and deep within bearing the akashic field. The need to pull over the underneath wisdom by slowly puffing joints one after the other. There I go simulating and falsifying my own akashic fields. Thereby finding all those alternative realities of truth to behold. Lo! What a absurd human desire. To willingly falsify everything one knows, knowing that it leads to nothing but none. What a ransack drudgery! To soil and sweat, to feel the essence of numbness over and over until the dig is deeper only to find one’s reflection. Ironical smile apprehending to The Void. Thereby climbing back the stairs to and fro, feeling the nonsensical absurdity of life and death only to find oneself creeping everywhere, Cockroaches.
The past, present and the future getting nullified is another man’s delusion. Trying to create a facade when itself is a illusion. Need to be and able to do a creation that magnifies one’s reflection. Lo! Fool can go to any extent to fool oneself for the other as no one believes in his magnitude version of universe as all crave for the minimalistic future apprehending to The Void. Thereby creating and believing more rhetorical human’s whose only purpose is to find thou oneself of the qualified absurd entity, Potholes.
‘To be continued after the writer’s block’
One cannot resist reality. If so, it would only delay healing.
But the question is how much of reality is real.
If living in maaya is insanity so is living in reality.
How do we escape absurdities?
According to Albert Camus, philosophical suicide is the solution.
But that would only mean being in the crux of sanity which would eventually lead to nothingness.
Nothingness is the end result of all efforts. If that nothingness contains serenity than it is the God of all optimistic nihilism. The ability to experience choatic peace in the center of influx of drudgery. And, the ability to revert back to normalcy everytime one is faced with traumatic circumstances of life. Whether the circumstances are constructed or banal, it remains constant with a waxing and waning feature.
Yet reality is unescapable. It makes us bow in every action and sceptical in every presumption. The true beauty it is withstanding is its instinctual nature of an entity.
As entity cannot be diminished because it is beholding space and time. And it is the beginning of all forms of existence. Thus, is the cycle of all phenomenal events.
I was of the concept that living in an dystopian world would offer more freedom. But I was wrong, it made me more organised and structured.
I was not able to take care of the self. I felt erratic and made me crazy. Too many thoughts and ideas rampaged my mind. At one point of time, I started hearing voices. It created anxiety in me. It was a tough period to fight each of my elements of insanity.
What I feared most was going insane. Not that people would stigmatise me. But the concept as well as the treatment made me anxious. The endless suffering and the infectious pain dreaded me.
I was ready to kill myself but was not able to. As I was not aware of how to kill myself. Which would be the most suitable method? As I started pondering, I realised how difficult it is to crucify oneself. Maybe that is the reason why we do not. Recently, someone I know said ‘humans are the only creatures who can kill oneself ‘. I was stunned as though I had not thought of this before nor that source ever appeared in my mind.
As I started organizing things to kill boredom and to be away from going insane. I called my mom and told her how I am feeling extensive voidness, boredom and nihilistic aspects. She responded saying come back home, do not live alone.
Later added that, it is due to this that they have introduced the concepts of marriage and procreation. So as to kill this vicious cycle. Obviously, I didn’t agree to it. In return, I told her how it is a temporary process and that eventually I would start feeling void again. Our conversation ended there. I later reflected on what she said and realised how human beings attribute meaning to things. She (mom) attributed meaning to marriage whereas I , for a solitary life. Neither of it made sense as it is absurd and quenches thirst temporarily.
I came to the conclusion long back that everything is nihilistic. Knowing that, without causing much of temper tantrums, I continued to live as optimistic nihilist. As I explain to my people that life has no meaning, purpose or value…yada.. yada.. I continue to live optimistically even though life is absurd. The option of choosing between either of things is what makes me to live on.
Knowing that I can kill myself whenever I cherish to and whenever I can. As well as do or refuse. The act of choice is everything. You can be good or bad and sane or insane. THE CHOICE!