who m i??

manish's picture



Average: 5 (4 votes)

Wants and needs are so hard to distinguish from one another.
Sometimes I feel entirely soulless and vacuous; the pronoun is dead and I am exhumed as the phantasmagorical.

This body and form seems like a brittle shell, void of blood and tissue and life and substance. Scraped clean around bones and hardened flesh, and I rest inside this cavity, existing no more than a clutter of intangible word-thoughts. At times like these I do not feel human, I do not feel I exist in this world as matter or cells or energies. Manish is not me, I am not manish. Me and this body are merely coincidental collisions. I am a word-thought. I exist as ALL word-thoughts. I would say I have never felt so alone, so terrifyingly alone, but to feel alone one must feel a sense of self that has been abandoned. I do not have that. I am word-thought alone.
I know I will reconnect with my form, maybe in a few minutes, maybe a few hours, maybe days. Sometimes I just feel utterly inhuman and I wallow in this dark nothingness as word-thoughts, passing to and from, flashes of light, and shadows of the lack of light. There are no colors, nothing to behold or touch; senses dulled to the point of superfluity. I know it will pass. I will reconnect again. I will establish identity and sense of self and purpose. I tell myself it is a phase, a bad trip, a good time for a nap. But in the moment I am nothing more than an idea in a vast cavity of hell's deepest hollows. I want to touch, taste, smell, move. I am afflicted not by emotions but by the lack thereof. I question and revisit to establish myself in this world again. But the process is draining. I want to be mentally well. I want to be competent and capable and happy. I want to coexist with my body and mind. I want to be all three at once. The word-thoughts ebb and flow. Sometimes I am thoughts. Sometimes I am nothing. A literal terrifying nothing. And now it has begun to pass, and I can move my limbs and lick my chapped lips and touch my face and pull on my hair. But the memory lingers. The nihility looms darkly. The clouds are too far for me to part with my hands. We are all word-thoughts. We are not who or what we think we are. Sometimes I wonder if feeling human is only a phase, if life is just a phase, and we are born and slowly evolve into word-thoughts and emptiness.
There are no emotions: I do not feel depressed or angry or frightened anymore.
I seek to understand and overcome. I handle and don't handle. I feel distanced because I wonder if the things that mattered and moved me so wonderfully were just lies after all-- their forms decieved the word-thoughts. Cloaked. Smoke and mirrors. I want to believe...the way I did before, so guilelessly and hopefully and innocently, surpressing my skepticisms and reveling in bliss, but as was aforementioned, wants and needs are hard things to distinguish from one another, and you can't hide from a word-thought. You can only arrange them.

I spent a lot of time feeling completely unloveable, though I'd never come out and admit that to your face. I don't blame or point the finger. I effortlessly accept, and perhaps that's the entire problem.

It's hard sometimes. "It" being whatever you want it to be. Hard is not impossible, and impossible is a word only good for word-thoughts, and not emotions. I want to make it work. The good is fantastic and the bad is merely a portal into word-thoughts that eventually resurface into the fantastic again. The cycle is tiring, but life is tiring, and things that are valuable are tiring, and things that help us escape mental vacuity are tiring. My goal is admirable and I am not ashamed and I am not afraid. I do not know if my goals are marked by wants or needs but that can be sorted out later. As of now, no matter if I am a disembowled shell or a sloshing bucket of blood, this is important to me, on every plane of my existence.

Sometimes I wonder if the human condition is that of a reprehensible, shameless interplay between sadism and masochism.

But I'm here and bleeding and waiting to play.
I'm bloody eternal.