Journal Thread

These past few weeks have been a haze. I am finding it harder than ever before to simply think clearly, to recover words, ideas, and emotions which previously flowed freely. Perhaps I have become an automaton. A cheap imitation of humanity, kind of like a smile which doesn’t quite reach the eyes. It feels as though my mind just doesn’t quite reach my brain. I like to think that I am in there somewhere, lost among the countless cerebral folds and grooves. Perhaps my mind is tucked away and hiding within the pineal gland, that Cartesian bean which may or may not be the seat of the soul, waiting for a reawakening of faith. I may never know.

A mind fashioned after the great processing machina which drives our world, that is what modern culture demands of us. A mind which displays a certain prowess for efficient consumption of information. Yes, I think that may be it, society demands a brain ripe for consumption. Consumption maybe, but digestion? Perhaps my brain is experiencing a sort of mental constipation. I have become a drone plodding along in an indescribable haze so thick that it smothers and poisons the soul into obscurity.

Perhaps it is psychogenic fugue.

my diary, desu

I feel like I'm climbing up a massive mountain. Sometimes I'll slip on a patch of ice or loose gravel but I continue to climb. I'm not sure why I climb, only that I will. Sometimes I'll catch myself wanting nothing more than to give up and slide back down on the seat of my pants but I never have the balls to do it.
What's at the top of this mountain? What will I meet at the precipice. Should I give up? Odds are it won't be anything near as worthwhile as the effort I'm exerting.
I wish I wasn't so fucking unsure. Every step is made with total anxiety. Every handhold is taken with fear of it giving way. What if I fall? What is the worst thing that could happen?
These thoughts are only accented with the memory that I have seldom actually stood on my own legs throughout this trek. Often my well meaning climbing partners (both far more experienced and in much better physical shape) will praise me for taking steps which had been nearly totally facilitated and acted upon by themselves. I am dead weight attached to their life-line. It would be moronic to cut myself loose, yet equally idiotic to continue in this manner.
I'll figure it out. Or perhaps I'll give up, sever the lines, and tumble back to the ground on my neck.

There's a man walking down the street. He is skeleton thin with a big coat that hangs on him like a bat to a wire. He wears two different shoes, and there is a shadow in his eyes that lets you know hes not all the way there anymore. He walks around the puddles and when he cries no one notices, because it all flows to the sewer.

man wtf

File: sisyphus.jpg (62KB, 433x427px) Image search: [Google]

62KB, 433x427px

>>9347759
I feel you. Life can seem meaningless and futile. Take solace in the fact that no one reaches that precipice, the trek simply becomes harder as we age and our body starts to fail. At least we may be able to witness a truly beautiful view of the scenery from time to time.

>>9347779
Spooky

I've been emotionally detached for a very long time now, longer than I can remember. I'm not even sure why, but being in my position I can't simply open up. As a result I feel alone, constantly yearning for someone mature and trustworthy enough to share my inner thoughts and emotions, but aware that there is no one like that. It's a burden, but not one impossible to cope with, and certainly not the cause of a major depressive disorder.

There's not much to be said beyond that—anecdotes rely on pathos, and I've relinquished much of my ability to perceive or inspire it. I could talk about my failed attempts at writing or my equally-fared romantic experiences, but they all lead to the same conclusion. The way things are, I'm just another absurdist hero, another nameless Sisyphus among countless others sentenced to not be a part of history. The thought scares me, but not unlike death, I will come to terms with it within this lifetime.

File: schizo.jpg (176KB, 1010x1013px) Image search: [Google]

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I just haven't felt the same ever since I left the hospital. My self-esteem is so low and I don't even write anymore. I tell myself it's because of the invega injections they gave me, but I'm terrified it is just negative symptoms of schizophrenia and my mind is deteriorating.

But wait, could it be that I'm not a schizophrenic but a schizoanalyst? I must hook up my asshole machine to the sunbeam machines and assemble the overall desiring machine into the body without organs.

video of my day off

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WePI9XxJ90Q

I slipped and fell the other day. I was running full speed down a gentle slope on some wet grass. My dog was chasing after a squirrel, and I was trying to keep up when my shitty $12 walmart sneakers lost traction. Both feet slipped out from under me, and I landed hard on my back. It must have looked like a slapstick routine, like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel. It knocked the wind out of me. I lay there for a moment, trying to breathe, noticing the pain.

And then, I started laughing. I felt alive in a strange way. The pain was invigorating. I suppose it's a sad reflection on the colorless monotony of my life that a moment of genuine, physical pain and surprise is what it takes to feel something.

And my dog gave up chasing the squirrel and immediately came over to check on me after I fell. She truly is man's best friend.

>>9348051
>This video is private

I actually wanted to watch it desu

>>9348084
>>9348051
Me too

>>9348084
>>9348145
wups, okay

>>9347675
>>9347759
Saved