14 June 2022

The fourteenth day of June.

I have many thoughts but nothing to write. Nothing that I want to jot down. There is nothing that I want to write here that I would like to read in a few years to feel something.
But, since I have made it clear to myself that I will try to be consistent here, I will make sure to write something or other. 
There are no work leads available or foreseeable.
The current landscape in the folk household is improving and coming to normal standards. 
I still constantly work around eggshells and try to maintain low contact.
I have also not been able to proofread, actively apply for work, or write here properly for the past few days. I am all drained out after all the havoc. I have no imagination left, nor any creativity with words either. Back to square one. 
I also turned the diary into private mode, for what reason I do not know. I want people to read me but not analyze or judge me. I want people to see me but not recognize me. I want people to hear me but not think about me. I think I am scared of being discovered, but at the same time, I desperately want to be known.
It is so perplexing to feel empty and at the same time feel constricted, like something is stuck inside. I am tired of reminding myself that I am actually alive and breathing. I have to zone myself in by putting my hands on a firm surface and pressing the tips of my fingers to remind myself that this body of mine is working.

Today's mood: L'Ennui.

- Oizys.

09 June 2022

The ninth day of June.

 

There is no shift in the emotional landscape of the house or my mind. Eyes, head, and limbs. All sore, sore and sore. From crying and writhing. I reached yet another lower point today while digging this etching ground of soul smeared with tallow and grease from all the inner butchery in the past few days. Every day I break a bit more and drop down a bit further. And, I look around. To find I have nothing to hold onto, no one to lean on to. I am unable to talk because I feel unworthy of words in the society of capable. I am unable to swallow food from a table that has no contribution from my skills and labor. I am unable to take space in my household without the feeling of contrition.

 

I haven't spoken since the evening before yesterday. But, my mind has a mouth of its own which has been screaming ceaselessly. Even with no spoken words, the thoughts are deafening and my head is blurred. This inexorable array of colliding emotions and crashing relationships. I do not know what I need anymore. I do not what will stop this cluster foxtrot of my omnishambles. I do not know what will change this one-way never-ending descending staircase of life.

 

And, while I hit the nail and tumble down these stairs and my head was almost there to hit rock bottom, I came across this post somewhere on the internet:

 

"Not everyone gets a happy ending. Suffering does not automatically mean it will get better in the future. Sometimes it will just get worse until you die. You can very well be that unlucky person."

 

I often think it will get better. I will shed off all the toxicity, and run away to a more sanguine place maybe. Find better people to surround me with. I will stabilize my emotion. Grab control over my life. And, share these tears with my peers like a tumultuous intellectual journey of mine over a cup of tea. But, the thing is... The stark reality is that no one seeks to be around someone who is so eaten up and gutted by their myriad of woe. No one chooses to be alongside someone who has denied the extended hands of joy. Hence, until I can reassemble these fragments into at least a significant corporeal, I'm doomed to float through existence, looking for hanging fruits for survival and finally perish by submersion.

- Oizys.