Iron, meet Rust

I feel tired. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to move an inch. I try to stop, but it's suffocating. I don't feel good at all. I can't remember the last time I did. I listened to Alan Watts speak recently about how you are already enough. That you don't need to stress and strain to become better. That you can simply exist. I don't think I know how to do that, if I ever did. He says that awakening is about removing the unnecessary.

I want to remove myself entirely. Not just the mind and its ailments, but everything that makes me. What is the value of life? I cannot see any. What use is there in this supposedly majestic dance of existence? It eludes me. I feel as though I've been chasing highs my entire life. Running away from the boring, simple grays, and especially the ominous darkness. The past few years, it seems as though it's all caught up to me.

I can escape the demons no longer. I cannot even allow myself to befriend them. Yet, I simply cannot leave either. I have come to an utterly miserable standstill. Behind me are the mountains of Olympus, shining with the brilliance of Godly glory. Beautiful women, extraordinary musicians, unbelievable thrills, majestic natural splendor, adventure, the heights of all creation, and the glow of pure, unconditional love. 

Ahead only a grey, murky, disgusting, heavy, excruciating, low full of endless pain and suffering. Each time, it's as if I've never stooped so low. I wonder if this is all there is. Why would anyone want to live like this? Why do people insist on clinging to each other? Why can't the sad ones be free? Not everyone has good things to look forward to. Some are too weak to bear the weight of existence.

Why can't we respect each other's choices? Is it because of how it makes us feel? Does someone taking their leave equate to the host's failure? If someone chooses death, does that mean you all are not enough? That our world and our company are not worthy of their presence? Why is that so bad? Ah, I see. We need losers to make ourselves feel better, don't we? Without the fat, ugly, poor, pathetic beings, how can there be mercy? Without the horrors of utter defeat, how can there be victory?

DAMN IT, MAN! Not everything is about us. Some things are far beyond human reach. Thank God for that, at least. The enlightened would lead you to believe that you have no enemies. Alas! That's just a ploy to feed the beast. The mean, lean, grim, and evil machine. Bludgeoned to a pulp by the tyranny of exceptionalism. Merely sitting and wasting away is now labeled a sin.

Humans are cruel creatures indeed. The same hands that do no evil make the illusion of choice and its consequences. A "Rigged from the start" comes to mind. I guess that's why I abhor any kind of competitive games. If it's a board game, cards, or anything else, there's no way for me to win. I'm new, lacking in experience, and I don't know the rules that well. 

No matter what, my participation cannot be more than fuel for your ego. There's no choice but to burn and become someone else's food. I've never experienced anything else. I cannot stand any group or social setting. This ritualistic sacrifice of the many weak for the few strong. I just can't shake this feeling that I'm too soft for this world. It's as innocent as pathetic. 

I pray, won't they just let me leave peacefully? I've never done anything except follow my nature. Why does that betray me so? What am I doing wrong? Why can't I just get it right??? They say that iron sharpens iron. Well, I've never seen anything other than rust. I was never meant for this world, and I fear that I never will be. All I can do is suffer in silence and try not to be too much of a bother.

What hateful scorn, to be a burden on this world. To take and give nothing back. At least if I die, they can give away my organs, and perhaps my body can feed the grass. But alas, they will be sure to burn me to dust. Such horrid creatures, so clingy and possessive. Even in death, I shall only know defeat. Barbaric, savage, blatant violence. Spewing raw, putrid, rancid poison. Spiteful to no end. Those are human beings. 

They always say, "That's life," and "That's human." As if neutral nouns can salvage unholy acts. Unforgivable, irredeemable, never-ending rivers of tar. That's human. Unapologetic, dishonorable, vilely malicious acts of horror. That's life. 

An ocean full of boiling blood, bleeding guts, and rotting corpses: This world.

A singular speck of worthless scum: That's a-me. 

In the public eye, they call these thoughts a sickness. Behind closed doors, normal is what's truly unbearable. Truth is the only comfort. They say that, "If you look into the abyss, the abyss looks back into you." That those who fight monsters should be careful not to become one. I've never fought a monster in my life. I've only tried to understand everything and everyone I've come across.

I found no comfort in the pageantry and play of our world. They also say that "ignorance is bliss." I found ignorance to be dreadful and the abyss to be fruitful. At least monsters do not lie or cheat. They are simply true to their nature. Brave enough to bear it all. Strong enough to be themselves in all their horror and shame. 

In following my nature, I have only reached a place far, far away. Neither here nor there. A strange land in between. Never belonging, yet surrounded. Never familiar, faintly grounded. Light-headed and heavy-minded. 

All I can say is, "Confound it!"