The images flash so quickly through my mind and open many windows but they are too fleeting. They flow onto my subconscious and are lost. Sometimes I can reach out and capture one stray thought but too many are beyond reach. I feel frustrated at my inability. Sometimes I briefly glimpse a thought but it’s not in words and when I try to write it down it refuses to be labelled with language. Mostly pictures, but usually just a feeling. How I wish it’s possible to describe emotions accurately. I want to understand myself but I can’t. I don’t know how.
I’m not the person I want to be. That one is lost, like one of those glimpses. The persona I carry around me is the loudest one, I don’t like it much. It’s too slow, too nice, too agreeable and opinionless. It’s happy because it doesn’t know or care what it wants. It’s too typically human and other humans react well to it.
But I react badly to humankind. Individually they have many virtues to recommend them but grouped together they’re an ugly, uncontrollable crowd. They do what everybody else does because everybody else does it. They travel happily on the conveyor belt of life, going through the various stations and getting fitted out, one emotional baggage at a time. There’s no respect for “anomalies”, everything must happen in the correct order. People must contribute to society. A restraining society. An inflexible society. Flawed parts are discarded.
So why don’t you get off? What, and be labelled strange, abnormal, weird? Even though I say I’m not affected by the opinions of others I’m not made of ice. Besides, it’s not so monumentally important to me that I have to make the grand gesture of rebellion and do something New Agey like forsake all my earthly ties. I just need to be left alone so I can think and be myself and have dark obsessions without feeling guilty about them. And am I really that detached? Am I kidding myself? When I say all these things like I want to be different and go seek out my emotional depth do I mean them or am I just pretending? Pretending to be strong, or uncaring, or emotionless. Is there really a better, more profound, sensitive, witty me lurking beneath the skin? Or am I just telling myself there is another personality when in truth there’s only this one, one that I don’t particularly like and one I want to change? May be it’s not as much a surface layer as just a mask. Except it can’t be a mask because I feel so exposed all the time I feel like I need one.
May be I’m just afraid of facing myself.
No one is listening.