Soliloquy

Some things can be changed in a person, while there are a great many that cannot be. In my case, I suppose the whole misanthropic ideal is probably the most unchanging trait within me. I ventured out of my shell for quite a few years now, and somehow I find the experience not particularly exhilirating---getting out of one's shell makes one vulnerable.

And the last thing I want to be is to be vulnerable.

Weakness is one thing that I seem to refuse to acknowledge in any of its forms. It's probably a character flaw/trait, but I don't really care about it. So many things have come and gone; I used to trust in people, now I trust almost no one. It is not too hard a decision really, but some habits take a little bit of time to break. It is frustrating to always have to put on a mask that makes me more friendly than I really am---in many ways, I never really grew up. That child-like curiousity that I am so proud of is also the same trait that is causing my eventual downfall, as I never really progressed beyond what I had up to the age of eighteen or twenty.

Forever the immature one, right? I call bullshit.

That is just a perception, like everything else. And like every single kind of perception, it is alterable. Just because I maintain my curiousity doesn't mean that I have ``not grown up''; what it really means is that I have figured out how to meld the positive traits from the past with the ridiculous social mores that is in the present and future.

I'm just tired of people in general. It's tautologous---I think they don't understand me enough, so I don't share, and I don't share because they don't understand me enough. I have told many people that trying to ``know me'' is a rather dangerous and delicate procedure---that headspace of mine is fairly warped by this stage, and any attempt to try and make sense of what is going on is just leading one down the path of unadulterated insanity.

I am, as they might call it, a failed human. Failed in the physical sense, and now, failed in the mental sense. Put it even more bluntly, I'm fucked up in the head. Woo-wee. Do I enjoy being fucked up in the head? That's... hard to answer, because the concept of pleasure and pain is one that I have long learnt to not bother identifying, since either outcome is going to lead to an eventual discomfort that radiates throughout my very being.

If I were purely good or purely evil, obviously things would have been much easier, since there is literally a paragon that can serve as a guide to how one ought to behave. But of course, life with its tortuous roads is nothing like that, and I find myself perpetually stuck in that in-between place that causes the most grief and pain for everyone, including myself.

I don't know why I have this sudden... distaste of people. I used to have small bouts of it, but recently, this has become something more chronic. I can only venture a guess or two as to why the outcomes are so, but really, I'm just tired. Tired of the drama, tired of having to deal with people at the emotional level. Tired of being an actor; tired of being a spectator. Tired of taking charge, tired of merely following orders. Tired of being in the limelight, tired of being in the background.

I'm all messed up in the head.

No wonder people don't like me. No wonder relationships don't work out. No wonder I keep causing trouble for myself. No wonder my luck runs out. All these things are starting to make sense now, and I am seriously starting to consider taking really radical steps to just lobomotise away the messed up parts.

Unfortunately, science doesn't work that way and I find myself living through yet another day as a zombie whose brain had been enslaved by the very metaphysical entity of ``productive work''. It's a sad life really, having little to look forward to except to the glorious day when my body fails me once and for all and I die, peacefully or otherwise. Maybe death is the only true source of salvation for the likes of me, where the social barometers within ourselves are completely broken beyond repair.

And in spite of my time of need, I actively push everyone away, close or otherwise. Perhaps this is related to my concept of weakness---I don't want to appear weak. Or perhaps it is just me not knowing how to consult others for help, internally still paranoid at what people can do with the little information that they have on me.

Normalcy is among the last things for me I suppose. If I have to trade 10 years of life to one year of being an eccentric, I think with high probability I wouldn't mind doing that just to be someone who is cursorily unwilling to follow the mores of society for the sake of being a follower.

And once more, why do I say all these? Is there an overarching theme that I am trying to present? That is for all the aspiring psychoanalysts to decide. I'm out of here for now.