I truly recognise these moments for what they are.
Moments of great doubt, great anger, great hate and mostly, great fear.
I can feel it, so powerful, mounting a full assault on my entire person.
For fear leads to doubt, which leads to more fear, which leads to more doubt.
And from this cycle, all things flow.
I had thought that perhaps after one great catharsis of lenghty ranting, that I would look back and laugh at myself.
But even today, I still feel every word biting me, every word of the previous post ringing so strongly in my head.
Indeed, words of fear and hate have become the loudest phrases in me.
And today, while I might sound much more collected than yesterday, the same feelings and emotions flow through my veins.
The hopelessness, the dread, the anger, the fear and the hate.
I have already realised, for quite some time actually, that my troubles always begin with people.
For if others did not exist, or were made invisible, I would probably not be bothered with all the other troubles that have plagued me these days.
All the fear about my future, all the resentment of who I am.
I am too this, not enough of that. The list can go on and on.
But which is first cause?
Perhaps something that is lesser known about me, perhaps known only to those with the eyes to see me, is that the things which truly bother me are those to do with people.
At the root of every chapter of my tribulations, lies a core issue which will surely have to do with someone, or some people.
It is something that I have realised: It is never about things.
Before I started to care about people, I was at ease with myself. I was confident, assured, loving towards myself.
I do not understand how this causation has come to be true, but true it is.
Up to now, I do not understand why I do not make the choice to exclude everyone else in my life, to make them invisible.
Perhaps it is because in the deep recesses of my heart, I want to overcome this.
I want to love myself, while being loved, and loving others.
Perhaps that is true existence to me.
Yet who ever said that true existence was easy?
When I look around me, the facts seem simple.
Most do not see me. They look at me, but they do not see me.
Those who see me, they do not really care for seeing me. It makes no real difference to them whether they do or not.
I really don’t know what I have missed, what I have been blind to.
Maybe it is my fault, my own blindness that is the problem.
Perhaps it is always easier to hate others for hating you. Easier to dislike, distant yourself, from those who dislike you, those who have created a barrier in front of you.
After all, what are the alternatives, really.
Do you hate others for hating you, or do you hate yourself for others hating you?
Perhaps both, perhaps both.
Really, it could be a question of extent, like so many other things are.
I truly feel defeated.
I know that I have tried, and perhaps that knowledge merely adds on to the suffering.
But perhaps the knowledge that adds the most to the suffering, is knowing that no one else would try for you as much as you have tried for them.
Which brings us back to first cause, which brings us to the question of the sponsoring thought.
Which came first, you trying, or people not?
You hating, or you being hated.
You fearing for you, or you fearing for others.
Losing your own love, or losing the love of others.
Which came first, the pain or the suffering?
There are so many questions that I do not have answers to, so many questions I am dying to find answers to.
Every single waking moment, the same fears plague me, the same sorrows drown me, the same hatred consumes me.
The paralysis of it all is breath taking.
All motion seem to require much more energy than before.
All words seem to require much more effort than before.
All thoughts seem to involve much more pain than before.
I am suddenly robbed of my senses.
Or did I merely abandon them?
Really, one of the questions I will be pondering over is one of causation.
What really caused this?
Was it because I loved the opinions of others at the expense of my love for me?
Was it because I loved the acceptance of others at the expense of my acceptance of myself?
Perhaps it was because I was left with an empty void from what was once there?
Perhaps the cause of my fear is my grief.
Which is another to add to my list of which came first.
Which came first, my fear or my grief?
Or maybe, it was because what I thought was there I no longer think is there.
Indeed, these few days, in fact, for these few weeks even, I have slowly lapsed into a great struggle.
A great struggle for rediscovery, for rebirth.
And like every struggle, this struggle begins, inevitably, with questions.
I can only hope that I am asking the right ones.
