Jasmine says: A whole new world

6 June 2013

If I write all that my mind and heart keep droning on would the darkness leave me? Would a stream of light knife through and pierce through this black shroud? It is not finished. The lives of people who are without control over themselves are under the same spell as mine. I am made to feel disgustingly inadequate and emotionally unstable, the first being a self-deprecating assessment, the second a more logical point.

How long do people have to go through this phase? Let people experience life out of this net with triumphant laughter. A howl of survival and conquest as opposed to letting people have rest out of it through death’s lullaby should ensue. Who am I to dictate? All I say are appeals. Can I tell the Lord how he should run the world when I’ve been living as if it’s only now that I’ve known that the world is round and that I’ve lived my earlier years under the precept that the world is flat?

Off-key. Wrong timing. Out of tune. Mismatched. Put-offing style.

Let me love life and living. Let me breathe the air and not be trapped. Let me see not the suffering that I abhor on the faces of my people.  I will come out of this belittling brainwashing. I will come out of this and I will be able to write that others could do as well. I have done it, you can too! There’s still hope. I’m sure there is but what should I do? Is there anyway by which I could speed this up to alleviate my suffering? Can ore bid on the time it spends as it is purified in the furnace?

Tappy tappy tip tap. Type type type on. Sense or senseless. Readable or incomprehensible. Tippy tappy tap tap. I will find something fun and pleasurable and worth living for. I will. I have to stay alive for the sake of finding what that is. If there’s any consolation for self-alienation to the path of change, that is the truth that everything’s possible.  I am a builder, not a destroyer. I will struggle on building myself over and over again even if I am demolished by the simplest move day by day. Ain’t we not, all of us, informal settlers?

The disparity between what’s inside me and what I show outside increases. The other can’t keep up since it is controlled by something else. Are these hormones? I’ve tried talking to myself many times – in my head, in the mirror, through an imagined projection. All of me’s deranged and it doesn’t show.