I have to admit, I’m proud of myself for not tearing down my last post as soon as I snapped out of my brain fog. I’m still not really sure what that was, but looking back, it was uncomfortable and I hope that it doesn’t happen again. It was manageable when I wrote the post, but I was in my house alone just kind of sitting with it. When I was faced with human interaction that’s when I began to feel seriously out of sorts.
Today’s been a strange day. I’ve been so full of depth, emotion, art, philosophy, music, contemplation, retrospect, pain – all of it. I’ve been feeling so trapped in a world that I’m desperate to make sense of but don’t understand. A world that I feel I’ve never belonged in or will ever find peace or satisfaction from. I’m always searching for something I can never seem to find. Why is it that I’ve never been able to find any meaning in life or any connection to the external? To be honest, I spend as much time as possible internally, in my head. I feel like the world is so seriously messed up, so focused on the trivial, the vain and superficial. I can’t relate, and I know my illness and the day to day struggles of being in pain only make that harder, but I highly doubt that I’d feel very differently if I was healthy. Even as a child, as far back as I can remember, I have felt misplaced.
The only semblance of peace I’ve known is what I temporarily find within art and music and physical pain – and I don’t mean the chronic pain, there’s no peace at all in that. Maybe not everyone does truly bare the make-up that binds them to the world and makes them feel that it is home. Maybe some of us are just missing that connection. I heard a quote once, in a documentary, spoken by the father of a boy who had committed suicide and had suffered from mental illness. He said: “Some say that the body is a temple. But for my son, his body was a prison.” That is how I feel. Whether that belief is a sign of weakness and just plain cynicism and despair or an embodiment of true oppression, I do not know. I don’t believe that I’m weak for feeling that way, I know that it doesn’t make me particularly heroic or anything either, though.
Do I lack the proper skills to cope with the reality of our world and our society? Or am I just sensitive to things many others don’t pick up on and don’t feel the need to worry about? The amount of evil and suffering there is on this Earth weighs heavily on my mind in a way that I know it does not commonly with others. I don’t understand how their can be so much cruelty in the world and so much hate. I don’t understand how one species can be the perpetrator of so much horror. And I truly don’t understand how so many of us can stand to not care. Don’t our trespasses and afflictions deserve at least that much?
Maybe I suffer from whatever it is that causes so many poets and artists to not only feel so much, but to also feel so much pain. Maybe we really are misplaced.
“Society, you’re a crazy breed. I hope you’re not lonely, without me.
Society, crazy indeed. I hope you’re not lonely, without me.”
Society by Eddie Vedder