Spring has come. I killed the first fly around, whom I found to fly around.
Ambivalence, what is killing me. Split mind and heart? I don’t really know.
Growing tired, empty and sour. It’s not too good to become.
Who I am? This is the always-returning questions. You would think that by now I should have figured it, but no. I’m still in search of myself. And this is not a fair thing to do in the company of somebody, who does the same thing. And you are pretending that you already found yourself. It’s just not fair. Or was it about being fair at all?
Life is not fair.
But who I am to decide such things?
I can write here all sort of creepy and ill-minded fantasies.
I feel like a person who doesn’t belong anywhere. Lost contact with its old-world, on purpose. Out of laziness? Maybe out of laziness, or maybe just because it didn’t really fit the circumstances. Did not fit the circumstances at all, that’s just about right.
But is a “just about right” enough? It is so superficial, shallow. I freakin’ hate this world. And you should ask why is that so, is it because it describes my personality so well? Or maybe because I started to believe something, which somebody else said and stated for so long and continuously? Just as well be.
Superficial, I am. In so many things.
Only thing is to be done is to change. But can I change, or more importantly do I want to?
Sorry, but I’m such an egoist, superstitious, contemptuous person (and I didn’t write ‘little shit’ because it’s enough of an insult already) Why am I writing this?
Why I’m unable to express myself clearly? It is such a good question, and as we know the question is more important than the answer, in most cases. But now the pure question is not enough. The question now only helps to articulate the problem itself. Asking the proper question is the key. So now again the question is what counts. Again.
Don’t dare to go around the problem! No more bullshitting! Who do you want to misguide? Your own self?
Just because I can write questions, formulated like someone else were asking me, doesn’t mean that it’s not me. I can ask questions from myself. And it has nothing to do with schizophrenia. In that sense everybody is so.
My mood is so depending. Changes like the wind itself.
I don’t know, but I might have given up too much of myself. But then who I am now?
And for that, once again, don’t have an answer.
Once I would have said: one of the Children of God.
But now I’m not even sure of that. No. I’m sure that the previous statement is completely correct, the only thing is that I’m bothered by my own soul. And it’s most disturbing.
I should go and seek forgiveness from my Father.
My heart clings to you, and I’m safe under your wing. I’m walking in the Valley of Death, but you are my armor. I shall fear no enemy … so I don’t. My soul can rest only at you, in your never-ceasing presence.
And thank you for my years, spent in your Love.