2006-02-05
A Construct of Reality
There is so much that I could randomly say. It all feels, suddenly, so important. I’m not sad. Just contemplative, and very overwhelmed by my existence. This seems too post-modern, too maudlin, too immature. But I think the moment of growing up really is the second you realize that you don’t know anything. I’ve said it before but I’m experiencing this in a new way.
This, once again, feels woefully inadequate at expressing what I feel, what I’m feeling, so I’ll sit here and clack a little more. This weekend has been, to quote my English friend, an “utter toss”. I’ve done nothing but thought about everything. I went to the mall to get my hair cut, decided against it, walked out without the groceries I needed, bought food for (almost) consumption instead, and wandered around in the rain and slush. It’s so sunny today, and chill, the grey of yesterday seems distant and unbelievable. False.
I get to a certain spot in my thoughts and my mind, my body, just seizes. Stops. I can’t continue to think. I’m indentifying walls I’ve built around and inside myself for the first time. To what purpose? It’s terrifying. To know in your head that something or someone you’ve accepted as reality is false, but you are conditioned to accept it as truth. I am afraid of taking down the wall and letting the truth leak out. I am afraid of the purpose the wall serves. I am so deathly afraid, so paralytic in my fear.
The subject of my thoughts, I suppose, has been falsity. How my whole life is built on falsities imposed on me, accepted by me, and then in turn, adopted. Not knowing lies, but.. sandbags, of a sort. Yes. To keep the sanity in. And the leaks out. I am disorganized, but my life is composed of a vastly organized, intricately filed system of constructs meant to represent the reality I wished I had. And I suppose, if I had carried them long enough, they would. It’s nothing… insane. Don’t suppose I think I could fly, or anything like that. Just realities of what my life has been like. Certain memories I have. I just… live using 4 percent of my memories. And I acted like that was progress in these last two years. Walling them up, shutting them out – I acted like that was something good to do, and then seemed so shocked when I kept slipping up, falling harder, falling deeper, drowning. I’m so scared because I don’t think I *can* physically do this. But I also know I refuse this. I refuse this as a choice.
It’s a good thing I’m bloody tough. I promise, promise in my next entry, to write something beyond the metaphysical.
suzza at 3:08 p.m.