the inside of it all

index written

entry no. 1

january first.

Maybe we have a better reason than most to seek out what we don't understand. Of course, the notion that there are things we can never truly seek out is deeply horrifying, but the notion that one may know what no other could is even more troubling. How does one start to cope with a narrative in his mind that he truly believes no other human will experience? Perhaps even his experiences alone cannot be accounted for and this drives him further away from his fellows. All the while, his desire for understanding moves him to accomplish greater and greater tasks that alienate him. This turmoil is what I believe my personal experience with her to be. What's worse is that I sit here writing convoluted stories to try and make sense or purpose for my struggles, ones even the most offensive case of self-awareness could not cure. I cry with the loneliness that comes with my original experiences, yet there is little chance that not one other soul has felt the way I did in those moments. Of course, the circumstances of how my life has played out is pieced together from every choice and person and place that has come through it, but the emotions that come from them are intrinsic to the human experience. We have all felt our hearts drop to our stomachs, we have all had the ball of excitement so tight in our throats that there is no stopping us from yelping with elation. Yet I try to excuse my actions with "you wouldn't understand what I'm going through."

entry no. 2

january tenth.

You think you're intelligent until what you don't know towers over you and splashes above your head and runs down your shoulders with a cold so striking and new that you laugh and try to swim and wipe it off but it's still pouring over you. And you can't leave and you try and write your thoughts out of your head and maybe someone else could read it and then they'd understand but now they're in a creative writing assignment and the tsunami is still pouring and pouring and it's making its way into your lungs and everyone is clapping and then you start to get cold and now you're the water you're part of it and you travel to wash over someone else.

entry no. 3

january eleventh.

It seems as though I'm always searching for reasons to siphon off my progress and capabilities in order to settle down in the palisade of booze and guilt and greed. I don't need to settle down, but I don't want to face the brutality of man. Putting my mind to the thought of the end is the same as putting my head to the knife. I know how poisonous it all is. How bleak it is that she wants me to fall back into the warmth of her womb, but the sugary syrupy words that leak from her mouth are oh so enticing.