Beginnings

In a world which seems so strange, I find myself wondering again; A bit of wonder sets the stage. I wonder if it will ever be the same.

The changes which we travel and the motives which we press our efforts, it all feels an thing to which we are not worthy of.

In my heart I know all this change and hurt is something of value, but I also feel it misses the exact nature of the life it touches. If my motivations were more pure, if I only acted with more wholesomeness.

I am in a situation which reflects the unknown back towards me. I feel the listlessness of a man confined and isolated. I've been informed and told a great many things, yet I am in a situation of no control. My lack of agency is part of my progress I surmise, my isolation a product of momentum and the need to be protected.

I am mentally ill; or am I? I've been told these things, but do I really believe it? Is it not true that these things are labels which simply serve to place me in a category? I do not feel like a bad person, yet I am treated as an unwanted; an outcast. I have few friends, and as I try and make new ones, situations arise which truncate me from my efforts.

In some cases I'm teased and told my options are limited. It frustrates me and creates a barrier which dared not be crossed.

At court the other day an old lady in her late 50's injected herself into my life with a message she wrote on her phone. It bothered me and instead of saying no I allowed it to happen. I'm not especially interested in romantic relationships, certainly not with someone who colors their hair purple with pink and wears pajamas to a court appearance…

I responded to her texts which were questions about my work and charges. She hasn't responded yet, which I'm grateful for; I suppose my labels are useful in keeping people away. Mentally ill. Felon. It doesn't matter.

Being isolated at my mother and father's home has made me fatter too. I don’t get to the gym as much and I feel cut apart about that. I should really work my body here, which I will need to do if I have hope of staying sane.

The endorphins released during exercise are very important. It can mean the difference between a good and bad day. If I don't work and remain sedentary then two days later I suffer the emotional downswing. We all need to make the changes required of us. Knowing what those changes are is a big deal.

I sense and try to extend my gratitude towards the sentiment of catching someone's eye in the way I did. I am grateful. I do feel hurt at the same time. "Is this what I've been reduced to?", my ego says. It asks me how low I have sunk to allow this to happen. "Do I not have standards?" I try and remind myself I should not judge one person by the actions of another, but I immediately feel held back from honest expression by past experience and old habits.

I would rather not hurt someone, but I also do not want to use my time up with useless actions. It simply brings me back around to the main issue which is "What the hell am I doing?"

Daily life, my position of waiting, my malaise, it all adds up to distracted living and avoidance of responsibilities. It is multiplied by inaction and the results are already in, they have been for some time now. It sucks to be stationary.

Without a regular job, with no family, no friends, what else is there but persistence? Simply continue to be. Be here. Be there. For what purpose? To read a book? Do a puzzle? Find some special secret?

I don't know anymore. I feel there is a reason, but I can't externalize it. The purpose is within me. It hangs there like a ripe fruit upon the vine waiting to be taken. What does it all mean? Whatever does it all mean to be in this world?

We put such an emphasis on doing, rather than being. Why are we like this? We're going to be destroyed by this madness. This self imposed madness. This is a truth, a pain which hobbles us from within. A final pain. It is coming.