More and more, I find myself withdrawing. Things that used to bring me pleasure, now seem cheap and tawdry beyond comprehension. Everything in uncertain. People are undependable, untrustworthy, and are often lost in the quagmire, of their own self delusions. Carrying the weight of their madness, as well as that of my own personal demons, is a cross entirely too heavy to bare. I find it far more practical to remain solitary, and occasionally retreat to the lended ear of a bottle, then to actively seek out people of good character. In my 30th year, I am no longer convinced any exist, anymore.
Gone are the days, when I actually had a shred of concern, for my sense of well-being. I feel a degree of comfort, that comes with the overall sense of apathy, that now governs my life. I've reconciled with myself, the possibilities of the future, and they seem just as fleeting, as those of the past and present. I have discovered a newfound freedom, in the absence of personal concern. Existence, is a slow suicide. The spiral downward progresses at a snail's pace.
I am more convinced than ever, that my birth was some kind of freak occurance. An anomaly, if you will. Which would explain the prevailing sense of displacement I've had, for as long as I have been drawing breath. Much like a ghost that hovers between realms, I feel as if I have a foot in both worlds. Neither one nor the other. It feel it affects my perception of all around me. Whether it's people, objects, or experiences. Where I don't see them, but through them, and the resulting feelings are heightened ten-fold. I feel them weep history out onto my lap, and the emotional see-saw I experience as a result, eats away at me like a cancer. Like filth, it clings to my skin. I can't sanitize it off, nor can I drink it out of my consciousness. Only through the spilling of my own blood, is it temporarily pacified. And even then, not always.
I see the future. And like the coming storm, it's dark and foreboding.
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