“Other people do it. Other people manage, Other people can, Other people can’t!!”
My biggest dream is to go somewhere where nobody knows my name, where I have no friends, no memories, no hooks back into the person I am.
What this means is my biggest dream is to be able to escape my own life; everything that reminds me of me, makes me think of me, see me, and remember me.
…it all leads to inner warfare.
The thing is, I don’t really have an identity. I am composed of ‘other people’ things, what the ever-changing ‘they’ say I ‘could’, ‘should’, ‘am’ and. ‘aren’t’.
My identity is a battleground of ideas about who I am, and I am fucking mentally exhausted.
The world isn’t an idle summer forest through which we can take our time, and listen to the earth, we are instead, locked inside a maddening house, as capitalism insanely turns inwards, onto us, attacking us, through weaponised information.
Nobody has the time to do what they need to do, because fear is always dragging them back into their defensive positions. And nobody grows in a defensive position.
Lots of people (“”Other people do it. Other people manage, Other people can, Other people can’t, nananananananaa) do it. But my head is now merely a engine that can still growl as the wheels turn in the mud of all that I’ve achieved.
No empathy is afforded to those who try to connect their own struggles with a madness bigger than themselves.
A friend said that how I describe this sounds like schizophrenia. But I know it’s not.
I don’t hear voices, it’s more that I am constantly in 3rd person. My head is interpretations of myself that critique my every move. It’s ruining my life, to be honest.
John B Ledger 