personal

Sometime after the Crossroads

(this one is old)

It feels like a long period of sleep walking. A period without feelings. Merely a strange unconscious numbness. I don't know how many years has passed anymore, but looking through my writings, I can see that it is almost eight. They all seem like a blur. What did i do? It feels like I have been living in a small bubble of unconsciousness. But this, sitting here alone, in the dark, in the middle of the night; It brings me alive. It's like coming back to something lost. The tiredness isn't numb like normal. It's like an old friend. My tired eyes, fighting the bright light of the screen, while everything else is covered in a soothing blanket of darkness. I remember. All those long nights. Writing, longing, hoping, crying, smiling. The music and silence. The sound of the keyboard, echoed as I type these words. Words from a voice within that has been silent for so long. Silenced?

As I scroll through my old art, I remember the feeling of being alone in the world, but at the same time being a part of another world behind the screen. A world that was sometimes more real than this one. All those other lonely souls out there, and at the same time, right there with me. A heartfelt affection for someone you never met. Not really friendships, but something different. You could open your soul to them, and they to you, without any fear. And now they are all gone. And so am I.

I... I just got this feeling, and I stopped it. A desire to write those feelings out... but I do not allow myself to do it. Not even here... Why am I so afraid of them? The truth that I have always known? Because I walked a path, I made a choice. The reason why I named this writing what I did. I told myself that I needed to do it... and if I'm honest with myself, I still believe I did. But choosing a road, just because you knew the other one was wrong, what kind of choice is that? I remember that evening at the library. The question. How do you choose, when the choice is destiny? If you can't choose, then maybe none of the choices are the right one..? But the fear of loosing everything was there. The fear of real loneliness... It's silly really... thinking that now I sometimes long for it. Long for a time that is suddenly long gone. I long for feeling something other than restlessness and numbed tiredness. Something that is not just indifference.

Stories. Is this me writing, or is it just another story? That the thought makes me smile, isn't that a sign of the former? Or maybe just a strange kind of schizophrenia...

Before sitting down I thought to myself that I probably shouldn't go through my old things. That it might reopen old wounds that I was better off forgetting. It is not that it hurts. But the longing is there again. Reopened. Like a book you somehow forgot you read, but now remember vividly. How I long for making art again... Maybe I should try...

I fear this contentment that is sneaking in, but I'm no longer afraid of changing. I never really realized it, but changing does not mean becoming someone else, it means becoming something more. And that is what I want to be. Something more. I want to prove to myself that I'm... in control? Conscious? That there is more to this. Whatever this is. Prove it to myself? That I'm in control of me! That schizophrenia thing again? No, I think it is more like the mind battling the preprogrammed thoughts. It is not about ignoring our feelings, but observing them, evaluating them. Knowing which to let live, which to keep in check, and which to simply let go.

Is it possible to control your desires, and still sometimes allowing them to roam free? Yes, it must be, it needs to be if this life has any meaning. But I'm afraid that if I fuel my desire, I will not be able to control it. If I let myself have a taste, it will ruin me. It would be the ultimate test...? Or the ultimate stupidity...

The difference now and then. I want to sleep. Not sleep in, but go to sleep. A desperate hope that enough sleep will clear away the numbness that has become life.

Is all this really the truth, or just an illusive shadow of a life that was never really real?

(I closed this document and was about to turn off the computer... but I couldn't... so I opened it again. Just staring at this text...)

I don't want to leave.

But I know I have to...