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Message Subject I Declare Myself a Fucking Idiot
Poster Handle xSZx
Post Content
What is this feeling? It is so fucking heavy. It never relents, it merely requires a different way of handling the feelings, shuffling around the weight so it is bearable.

Perhaps this is the way that people with addictions feel.

Damn...night after night, clearing away all the past feelings, reconciling with every person I have ever 'known'. Clearing it all out, leaving me a tired wreck of over-abused emotions that reflect as if those reconciliations are an over all reality, when they are most likely my own.

It can't be this way for anyone, for everyone. I do not know how to...lift it without making me bend so. Perhaps these things I experience are not real, and I am behaving as if they are.

I am 44 years old. I have striven for most of my life to find out what has happened to me. What if, like others in the world, I discover that it is all bullshit? I probably wouldn't mind, as long as I am able to stop thinking.

Probably the worst thing I could have done is let others know of what I have been through. By writing it down, or speaking of it, I embed it deep into my self. Why is it not better to let if flow through without...

I think about people living to an old, ripe age, and it terrifies me. I cannot imagine living these 44 years all over again, and more than half of those years forgotten in the depths of birth, childhood and debauchery.

What makes me really fucked up, is that I am writing this on a public forum, to people I don't even 'know' in real life. A declare myself a fucking idiot to be known, and therefor used and abused, understood and in the end, obviously manipulated.

Does it matter in the end? I have been told it does, yet to remain true to self is what I aspire to. To all those that do not aspire to that, god help you.
 Quoting: Septenary Man

Remain fixed upon the truthful path,
Upon which find the Understanding place,
And did such journey lead here?
The place of here and now.
Enter my domain of terrible destruction,
Except my essence, succor my presence.

'The Horrible One'
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