he was there. By himself, kept saying to himself that was his choice, his isolation was conditioned by the willingness to be alone, said that he couldn’t identify himself with nobody and that no one would understand his thoughts. He projected his emorions into the personality of others, just to create an excuse to not talk to them, he wasn’t self-aware, he couldn’t be, he had no experience of the path of self-knowledge, people criticized that to his face, he tried to change, but, as he expected, people don’t change, maybe that negative thought prevented him to change; wasn’t his fault neither, he was raised in a very protective enviroment, that never had him to develop a personality and self-thought until he started learning things for himself, to manipulate hard ocasions, even though the hardest it would get didn’t really matter, since he wouldn’t suffer any backlash, hence increasing the boy’s god-complexed, infant, and careless personality. A personality which he carried even after his self-aware awakeness, he knew the importance of changing over time, rather than abruptly, he only didn’t know that people don’t change, only appear to change.

so he did end up alone. In his room, masturbating, crying, dancing, cutting, writing, gaming, doing whatever he could to hide his sadness, even though everything he did was a cry for help, his body hated him, his appearance was deplorable, his conversations limited themselves to one or two replies, because he couldn’t care enough to talk to anyone (even though he used that as an argument to the “I chose to be alone” point), his works were becoming a lot more inconsistent in means of schedule and quality, it was noticeable, too noticeable, his sleep schedule was even more inconsistenr than his emotional state or the times that he was putting himself on a pedestal, as he would do in public, to avoid getting hurt or using self-deprecation that no one cared about, his refferences were becoming as obscure as they could get. He wasn’t fine, he’d only admit it to one person, and crypted that message to whoever followed him on social media, even though nobody cared anymore. “You will never be 100%”, he knew that, he knew that he was mentally unstable by interacting to other people, and never he could be fine again, “is 80% okay?”, he did think that as he made some poor life decision that led him to the worst time of his life, he wasn’t protected anymore, this was real, blood left his throat, temporarily vision impaired, everything that led to his choice of being alone.

But he had a life, had friends, had a family, couldn’t abandon all that because he was down, if he did, the consequences for them would be extreme, probably prison, and since he thought that much of himself, suicides and drug issues. there wasn’t anything that he could relate anymore in this world, he lived by the things that the others recommend to him, he liked a lot of them, he disliked some, like a normal human being, but with a single twist: his own personal taste was dispised by most, not even his close ones could enjoy what he really liked, what made him become more lonely, nobody was to blame, he understood that, yet, he blamed humanity for not liking and producing more of what he liked; “Thank god for his god complex” was a thing that no one in their right minds would say, which isolated him even more, at the point that he was living in his own little niche bubble, and, in the case that  he would interact with people outside, he would be analised as strange, peculiar, rather weird, but smart in a kinda way that I can’t explain, because it doesn’t make any sense to me, to hear those words that come out of that ignorant little mouth of his.

Interestingly enough, in all of his period of loneliness, he was either with really close friends that knew way too much about him, and if he knew too much about, or with a girlfriend that knew a tad more than his close friends, but never was introduced to them. and so he was alone because of him, bringing the fault to himself, to protect the others from his instability, that alone is enough to destroy a man, and so it did, and with more stuff to cover, it becomes less friends, untill he was really alone, couldn’t talk to anybody, drained out of his forces, it was like he was atlas and he was holding nix from colapsing into the earth, nix being his insecurities, his abnegations, his collection of sorrow, everything bad, and the earth being everything that he deemed worthy. All that without the responsibility of paying the rent, having to work, having responsibilities, he could only imagine what a hot mess he would be, even though everyone around projected that he would be really successful, like everyone around him. The thing is, he only thought of killing himself after finishing studying.

-ActuallyYou, this is not over




One thought on “loneliness.

  1. Isto é arte (fantasia, ficção, …) ou realidade?

    Enviado do meu iPhone



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