It is exactly 9:23 pm, give or take a couple of seconds, and I am sitting on my bed, along in the light of my lamp, typing up my thoughts. I don’t feel particularly sad, nor particularly happy either; since discovering keeping busy is the only way to keep depression at bay, I have been doing just that. Instead of picking up a book and skimming through it in a lacklustre fashion, I have been actively reading, letting the sentences sink into my mind; when watching a Chinese TV show, instead of just focusing on the English subtitles, I’ve been trying to absorb the language.
Was that a particularly boring start to this post? I apologise. Sometimes, I forget that my life is far more interesting to myself than it is to other people. Isn’t it interesting, all of us living our lives? Isn’t interesting, the way we are all created the same way, born the same, and yet, in this world, of digitalised technology, fewer and fewer relationships are being formed, and fewer children being born in developed countries? Humanity is evolving, and I don’t know if in entirely a good way.
Look. You. Me. Staring at a computer screen, inside our own bedrooms, which have their unique aura and scent, living our lives, going to work or school, hanging out with friends, lovers, people, playing with cats and dogs. Our lives intersect, in so many ways, and sometimes, if I imagine hard enough, I can push myself into someone else’s life, feel their room, see the video game they are playing, the anime they are watching. I can be someone else, because we are all interconnected. We come from the same place, all of us, stitched out of the matter of the universe itself.
I don’t know where my life is going. I only recently realised keeping engaged in whatever task I am doing, be it listening to music or reading a book, only by being 100% engaged, every second of the day, can I keep the monster of depression at bay. It’s like lighting a fire to keep away the lions. Scary, isn’t it?
I’m a dying fairy. I can honestly say that. It’s as if this is a world full of iron, and I am being slowly burned away, from the inside out. Iron is anathema to faeries. Humanity keeps swimming around me, and I feel myself stranded on my own island, looking out, making no connection with anyone. I’m on this journey called life, and while I feel as though life is something quite momentous, I can’t seem to touch its grandeur, and instead am left with emptiness. I shy away from iron. I do. I cringe away from it, cry out in pain as iron pushes up against me, right against my skin. I am burned. I am dying. A tiny fairy, fluttering frantically like a butterfly, lost in a world of poison.
As I’m writing this, I am listening to an artist called Phildel. I can honestly say she is one of my favourite artists on this entire planet, especially her song Beside You, which is soft, lyrical and haunting. I don’t know how people find boyfriends, or lovers. I really don’t. I’m a lonely 20 year old, and whenever I step out into the world, I see a busy place of busy people too busy for relationships, too busy to stop and notice anyone, to speak and blush and flirt. No wonder the birth rate is declining. Relationships have always been foreign to me. And I’m afraid they always will be.
This blog has been a chronicle of my life. Every moment, every sensation and thought and feeling, I have poured into this blog, since 2013, when I first started it, out of the blue, just for fun, never thinking it would get any views, that people would care to read what I wrote. When I was full of dreams, and still lived in a relatively loving family. I haven’t seen my father for more than three years now, I think, since the divorce, and I’m afraid he is now in a place where I can never reach him. Do I care? Maybe not. Right now, I’m worried about how I will occupy my time for the next fifty or so years, at least until virtual reality kicks off and I can dive into escapism for good (only joking). The word “joking” frightens me sometimes, because it reminds me of “joker”, and I find jokers, particularly because of popular media, to be extremely disturbing and frightening. That’s how neurotic I am. Now I’m listening to Runaway by AURORA. I put Youtube on autoplay, so the words and the flowing notes of the song are washing over me, like watery silk.
It’s at times like this, quiet and silent, alone, lonely, that I wonder what life is all about. During my more depressed moments, I have wished to never have been born; I mean, life seems like a dream, half the time, and it passes so quickly. You cannot imagine how quickly the last 20 years have passed. Now I understand what 50 year olds mean, when they saw time passes so quickly. I don’t know what I want form life anymore. My dreams of getting published have melted into a puddle. I can’t—it isn’t—you can’t pick up water, you know? My dreams are gone. And so I am left with smaller dreams, bite-size pieces, more manageable, less sparkly and beautiful: to have enough money to buy food that I like, like fruit juice and hummus, to keep myself busy for the rest of my days, to not fall into the pit of depression. Eventually, I will post my book on my blog. Maybe i’ll even sell it on Amazon for a couple of dollars. Maybe only a few of you will buy it, but that doesn’t matter, because at least someone in the world read it and appreciated it. I love my book. And it makes me so sad that the publishers don’t love it at all.
Isn’t it funny, how different houses can have a different feel to them? I have moved many times in my life, and each time, each house had a different character to it. Even the walk home, to a particular house, had a different, unique feel to it. To be honest, I don’t know what went wrong. How did I go from a vivacious 15 year old to a depressed, unemployed (so far) 20 year old? It doesn’t make any sense. Nothing does. It’s as if everyone else around me in society is a robot, sometimes, and I’m the only real person. That honestly how I feel. Rushing from work, to home, to their friend’s place, to their boyfriend or girlfriend’s house. Always rushing. Paying for things. Buying. Working. Somewhere along the line, I got left behind.
Someone please come back for me.