Hey, World

It’s me again.

And guess what? You were right. I am foolish. I am short-sighted. Anti-social. Ugly. I am incapable, weird, boring, and generally awful at being. So shitty and so so useless that I apologize for being concious. I’d pattern myself into not existing if only I could face the weight of every single eye that never looked at me. It’s ok to sneer at me. Please loathe me. Please hate me. I understand that I deserve it. I should be homeless, loveless, typing frantically on a corner, begging for food because obviously any contribution I could ever imagine having was just a sick delusion I gave myself to pretend I was real. I shouldn’t have lied that I mattered. I’d take it back in a heartbeat if I could give every heartbeat back. If it’s any consolation, I’ll only do it once and then I will leave you forever. Remember me not all. I was always dead space.

I see that it’s a highly anxious exercise probing the depths of my own self loathing. Ideally, I would never cognize this at all. Slightly less ideally, I should be able to will it away in favor of immersion in the present. I am also uncertain whether this exercise is positive or negative. The pros are that it allows me to externalize very dangerous feelings and gives me a more accurate pictute of the scale of the task of crafting a peaceful mindset. The cons are the negative visualizations of myself embodied through the thought process which, hypothetically at least, further cement me in behaviors conforming to the negative mold. Paradoxically, acknowledging aberration of mind helps both cause and cure itself. It would be too easy to assume that from here, one could take a leap of faith to a circularly justified cure-all, or spiral into absolute madness. Really, I’m more amazed at the infinite regress implicit in the language describing either extreme. All options appear to be an insanity so I conclude that I must be crazy. I don’t profess to any form of solution or really even an easily stated problem. I merely attempt to paint my inner life in its most recognizable form for my own analysis. Externalizing my inner dialogue will always be this mix of pathological and medicinal.