The retrieval...

here

So I haven't been feeling like writing those last days. I still don't know if I've mustered up all my will to write. I've been feeling dramatically lethargic , alternating between apathy and utter disaffection. It is just a kind of everything feeling suddenly so distant that I felt completely detached from reality, not relating to anything likely to put a hint of excitment into my everyday mundane existence. Sometimes, a relentless writing impulse would make my fingers graze over the keyboard aimlessly, but the only few words I managed to type came out misshaped, this massive knot of thoughts inside my head still could not be undone. I could feel it grow everyday thicker and thicker, its threads slyly tightening around my brain and taking grip on my whole being. It just made me feel sick that I was unable to write, the one thing I used to find solace in has now left me feeling helpless and uninspired.

How few yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep

While I weep-While I weep

Oh God! Can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp
-A Dream Within a Dream-

I let myself be overcome by events, I no longer wanted to over analyze them or see beyond their outward happening. Nobody can defy what fate has revealed:The original manifestation of things is unarguably the best.

It'd be so hypocritical to say that this has left me feeling any better, but I at the same didn't want to succumb to any of my questioning spirit drives. I've turned off all senses and reached a distorted form of nihilism where I felt resigned to facts instead of rejecting them and where I was receptive of the world standards and started questioning mine. By putting expectations on others, you give them the power to deceive you; but put expectations on yourself and you could be the one deceiving them.
Milan Kundera wrote in the "Unbearable Lightness of Being" that an event is more significant and noteworthy the greater the number of fortuities likely to bring it about and that chance and chance only has a message for us. Everything that occurs out of necessity, everything expected, repeated day in and day out is mute. But who can spend a lifetime reading the signs and decoding omens trying to identify meanings where there mightn't be any? I wish I could see my life in terms of "what's chance and what's not" then I wouldn't have much to grieve over, but I can't afford such distanciation in my assessment of facts. Sometimes I hate it too much that I care and can't let go of certain things that it makes me feel vulnerable and depressed.
I need ideals to hang on to and to hold in high esteem; I will think the world of them until they disullusion me and leave me seeking refuge in the safety of my isolation. It is finally a balanced equation: You fed their sense of self-importance and they gave you signs of hope that you identified with. The reign of mathematical laws in nature is so great that it hasn't spared human relationships, but nature is not evil, there then must be no harm in being subdued by the power of its momentary outbursts.

A beautiful song inspired by Sarah.K