Take your broken heart, make it into art.
I feel utterly foolish, for believing that we are always able to guide our way into something we want. I think it is the result of blind trust into too many bookish aphorisms I've been reading since as long as I remember. The thing with misery, self-doubt, anger, hatred, aggression is that it all originates within us when we learn that no one else can put enough faith in us as a person, apart from ourselves. And even that little self-belief we have been pumping into ourselves starts to wane. We should bother less about the world and more about our individual lives because who cares? What is happening to the world out there apart from our little personal worlds is far bigger and will always continue. That's a harsh fact said but it's true. Someone I look up to, recently (read) 22 hours ago, said this to me. I understand frustration. Who doesn't? We are living in the worst times ever. Even Dickens would agree there's hardly anything nice or good about the times we are living in.
Enough with my world charade. I am truly distressed today. A very negative, uncertain energy keeps hovering in the air I breathe. I can feel the uncertainty, the tension, the spark that threatens to blow up this tentative thin sliver of peace surrounding me. I hate it. Hate being in it. I don't know what I have a bigger distaste for- using a strong word such as Hate or just disillusioning myself into writing about it here. I dislike this state of nerving. It puts me into an unnecessary position where I can't express my anger or at the least display it physically. Years of being a tolerant, quiet, mute spectator to some of the worst episodes of emotional and mental rage I've personally been involved in, I feel quite like putting up a show, every year, spaced a few months in between. No amount of self-loathing from the previous years prepares me for yet another episode of tension crackling underneath my (already scared) nerves.
Times like these are when I think of all the "supposed" motivational thoughts shared and some forwarded to me on my phone. DO words actually, ever, really hold ANY meaning at all? Apart from when we feel like a messiah and are throwing them away grandly to others? That old adage of putting ourselves in someone else's shoes before we do something that hurts or destroys people resonates strongly than ever. We get hurt. We hurt others. There's too many hurtful words thrown around in the heat of anger. We despise the situations. We forget or not-so-forget them over time. Sometimes this hurt comes back unexpectedly, in our dreams, in the daylight, in moments of halfhearted celebrations of joy. We can't seem to bury them anymore than the moment we pushed them away. I used to feel at peace and calm after writing my tribulations, not so anymore. Words are indeed, cheap. But Alas, it was me who once upon a time greatly believed in the power and value of words. I think I still do just not with that burning conviction. Time is running out. For what? For pleasing this society of humans we are a part of and must abide by their customary time line that dictates our ability to be a member of community living. Yes, we are born to fulfil these grand roles cut out for us even before we are formed. The decision is made. Do not challenge it. Perish if you can't sustain the life. Wither away little by little, admonishing your inabilities while the world celebrates the success of perfect people.
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