Sometimes you encase yourself in a cocoon of loneliness, preferring to isolate yourself from the world, distancing yourself from others. Yet, there are those around them who try and perturb this bubble that the you have sealed yourself into. They try to include themselves into this solitary existence that you have chosen and then go mad due to the silence and lack of social contact. They start wondering why you have chosen to live like this, and why don’t you try to live with others, and lead a normal existence for once. Why build walls and live trapped in your own mind, keeping others away, and refusing to let anyone get closer? These nosy people then try to break that cocoon and make you explore the outside world, but they don’t know that you are not ready to emerge from that cocoon yet, and early exposure to the elements that you are not yet prepared to handle, would just lead to an early death for you.
What’s it going to take for them realise that you don’t need their help, and you’re fine being on your own. You don’t like them trying to integrate themselves into your life, and then trying to change you and turn you into someone else?
But you’ve gotten so used to living in your bubble that the outside world is just too loud, too busy, and just too much for your senses to handle all at once. And you also know that forcing yourself to break that cocoon would lead into a nervous breakdown. You just shrivel and start fervently wishing that those people would leave you alone. Because you get even more tired trying to keep them away, and explaining your situation would do no good, given that these people have their own pre-concieved notions about how someone should live. That’s why you start thinking that it’s always better not to have friends if your character can do without them, because friends inevitably turn into a nuisance. Unless your friends have the heart to let people exists according to whatever character they may possess, you really rather that people stay away, and leave you be, to tend to your scars and heal in the way that you know how.
쓸쓸한 달빛 아래 내 그림자 하나 생기거든
그땐 말해볼까요 이 마음 들어나 주라고
문득 새벽을 알리는 그 바람 하나가 지나거든
그저 한숨쉬듯 물어볼까요, 나는 왜 살고 있는지
나 슬퍼도 살아야 하네
나 슬퍼서 살아야 하네
이 삶이 다 하고 나야 알텐데
내가 이 세상을 다녀간 그 이율
나 가고 기억하는 이
나 슬픔까지도 사랑했다 말해주길
흩어진 노을처럼 내 아픈 기억도 바래지면
그땐 웃어질까요 이 마음, 그리운 옛일로
저기 홀로선 별 하나 나의 외로움을 아는건지
차마 날 두고는 떠나지 못해 밤새 그 자리에만
나 슬퍼도 살아야 하네
나 슬퍼서 살아야 하네
이 삶이 다 하고 나야 알텐데
내가 이 세상을 다녀간 그 이율
나 가고 기억하는 이
내 슬픔까지도 사랑하길 우우~
부디 먼 훗날
나 가고 슬퍼하는 이
나 슬픔속에도 행복했다 믿게…
Just for future reference, don’t use words like “love” anymore. It’s a very sensitive word and it wears out quickly. Romeo barely says it, but John Hinckley filled up a whole journal with it. To put it into your terms, it’s a currency that’s easily devalued. Pretty soon you’re saying it whenever you hang up the phone or whenever you leave. It turns into an apology. Then it’s an excuse. Some assholes want it to be a bulletproof vest: don’t hate me; I love you. But mostly it just means—more. More, more—give me something more. A couple of years from now, when you’re on your own completely, if you really fall in love, if it really comes to that—and I pity you if it does—you have to look right down into the black of her eyes, right down into the emptiness in there and feel everything, absolutely everything she needs and you have to be willing to drown in it, Kevin. You’d have to want to be crushed, buried alive. Because that’s what real love feels like—choking. They used to bury some women in their wedding dresses, you know. I thought it was because all those husbands were too cheap to spring for another gown, but now it makes sense: love is your first foot in the grave. That’s why the second most abused word is “forever”.
“But what was there to say?
Only that there were tears. Only that Quietness and Emptiness fitted together like stacked spoons. Only that there was a snuffling in the hollows at the base of a lovely throat. Only that a hard honey-colored shoulder had a semicircle of teethmarks on it. Only that they held each other close, long after it was over. Only that what they shared that night was not happiness, but hideous grief.
Only that once again they broke the Love Laws. That lay down who should be loved. And how. And how much.”
그대는 슬픈 사랑
눈물에 가려진 별빛처럼
멀리서 내 곁을 맴도는
그런 사람 그대는 슬픈– 사-랑—
멋대로 사랑을 새겨놓-고
사랑이 가슴을 멍들게해~
바보처럼 손을 내밀어도
숨어 버리는 그대는 참 나쁘다–
그대는 나쁜 사람
모른척 아닌척 외면해도
자꾸만 내 눈에 밟히는
그대란 사람 그대는 나쁜 사람
Just couldn’t get this part out of my head for some reason!!!
“Demons run when a good man goes to war
Night will fall and drown the sun
When a good man goes to war
Friendship dies and true love lies
Night will fall and the dark will rise
When a good man goes to war
Demons run, but count the cost
The battle’s won, but the child is lost”
Steven Moffat, “A Good Man Goes to War”
I want to tear myself from this place, from this reality, rise up like a cloud and float away, melt into this humid summer night and dissolve somewhere far, over the hills. But I am here, my legs blocks of concrete, my lungs empty of air, my throat burning. There will be no floating away.
I have come to the conclusion that good books will leave you with a smile on your face.
But great books will leave you heartbroken and likely in the fetal position because the author steals your soul with their words, and the very thought of leaving the world and the characters hurts.
You once called me just to say : “It may seem silly to other people that we’re terrified of an action as innocuous as feeling, but we’re always so afraid of opening that box of emotions because every time we do, all that is left inside is pain.” I didn’t really know what to say because we’ve always held similar opinions, but at that point in time, I was strongly inclined to disagree with you. After your death though, I realised that in your last few days, you may have at last had the courage to fight the opponent that defeated us time and time again - fear.
We learnt the hard way growing up that displaying emotions made you vulnerable, we were taught how to control it, how to let reason dominate. And yet, the one emotion that always escapes reason is fear. It is a clever, treacherous adversary that has no decency, respects no law or convention, and shows no mercy. It goes for your weakest spot, which it finds with unnerving ease. It begins in your mind, always … Soon, fear becomes a wordless darkness that you avoid, perhaps even manage to forget, you open yourself to further attacks of fear because you never truly fought the opponent who defeated you.
We walked through life as duplicity incarnate, in all our interactions with other people, we have never let ourselves commit to that relationship a hundred percent. While on the surface, we appear engaged in a conversation with that person, beneath it all, our mind is frantically analysing and deciphering the intentions of that person, plotting strategically where we want to go from here, looking at the exchange in a detached manner. We could smile and laugh on the outside, even when we’re hurting on the inside. What we show the world is never what we truly are. Switching between one personality to the next, trying to keep up multiple facades at a time.
The driving force behind all these is still fear.
What are we so afraid of? Being hurt.
When you interact with a person on a superficial level, it is a lot easier, you alter the image that you present according to the changing dynamics of the relationship. It’s like an avatar in a game, when that relationship dies, your avatar dies, sometimes, the death of your avatar takes down your opponent with it, but you are free to walk off and create a new one, and play the next game.
Or at least, that was we are taught to do. What they don’t tell you is the weight of the burden in acting out these multiple roles. They don’t tell you that you could forget who you really are, and that the search to find your true self could hurt the most. Because in searching for your true identity, you must shed all the superficial versions and act in accordance with the true nature of your personality. But that removal process is like peeling off your skin, again and again, and the immense pain that come with that process, is what we are afraid of. So we continue to connect with people underneath layers of pretence and lies, in the hope that it would protect us from what we fear the most, of being hurt… That like so you aptly noted, that the only emotion left is pain.
However, we still truly long for deeper connection and understanding with someone, at least one person who truly understands what this situation is like. We want to break free of this chrysalis that we have spun out of lies and deceit, treachery and superficiality, but we are so afraid that when we finally do, we are going to emerge crippled, without wings and without the ability to fly, falling to the ground, and lying there helplessly. In that sense, fear has killed our mind, our heart and our imagination, leaving us with this pitiful existence that we pass off for reality.
A deep well of sadness has sprung from the recesses of our soul, flooding the confines that we’ve trapped ourselves in, drowning us in the tepid waters of despondency. And yet, we refuse the helping hand that others offered to us because we don’t think that we deserve it… That we have to take the suffering as a punishment for our failures in the past. Leaving us trapped in a cycle of misery, longing and helplessness, weighted down by the chains of fear…
“Melancholia is, I believe, a musical problem: a dissonance, a change in rhythm. While on the outside everything happens with the vertiginous rhythm of a cataract, on the inside is the exhausted adagio of drops of water falling from time to tired time. For this reason the outside, seen from the melancholic inside, appears absurd and unreal, and constitutes ‘the farce we all must play’.
― Alejandra Pizarnik
There are nights which I allowed myself to sleep profoundly, but yet, the arrival of morning bring about the same lassitude and a languor that weighed heavily upon me all day. A strange feeling of melancholy stole over me, like a blanket pulled over a child by a loving parent at night. This feeling gently enveloped me in its embrace, and inducing a tone of mind that was bitter and yet laced with sweetness Whatever it might be, there was a sense delight in allowing your soul to acquiesce in it.
The thought losing a mentor I have come to respect and admire has made my dwelling a space where the unchangeable colour of mourning rules over me. In this space, the inert self is aided by the suffering self to grow, and become more mature, gaining a deeper understanding of the woven intricacies that is life. His impending departure has also taken with him some of my more idealistic views about fairness in society, and polished my expectations of reality. While it is inevitable that in dealing with people, we cannot avoid melancholy, I cannot help but notice that the spectacle is profoundly strange one - in the process of moving on and having no certainty of who to put in their place, therein lies the source of sadness.
Oscar Wilde once made the observation that: “The gods are strange. It is not our vices only they make instruments to scourge us. They bring us to ruin through what in us is good, gentle, humane, loving.” And I do find myself inclined to agreeing with him, for it is the damnable thing called “empathy” that has led me down the lonely path of melancholia.
Some would play the friendship game with a tit-for-tat strategy, but there are days when I feel like the grim trigger strategy is more appropriate. What is the point of forgiving when you can’t forget? It’s like a stone underneath your mattress, and you’re going to feel it stabbing you in the back no matter how you shifted.
I don’t see the point of pretending everything is alright with the world, and carrying on as usual, burying the issue with coats of pretence and lies until you can’t even tell what the original colour was anymore. We could do that, but why would you want to? Sometimes, it’s better to let what’s broken stay shattered in pieces rather than hurt yourself trying to put it back together. And even if you managed to glue all the pieces back to some semblance of the original, you’d always be able to tell where the fault lines are. You know how when there’s a chip on the table, your finger just keeps running over that spot over and over again? The rest of the table still looks fine, it can still carry out the function that it’s meant to do, but the one thing that attracts your attention is that single chip.
The strange thing about people is that they never appreciate anything until it’s gone. They throw someone’s trust against a wall over and over again, testing it, until it finally shatters, and then they go into a mad rush trying to put it all back together again. Why? Is it just that you only want what you don’t have?
Trying to keep a friendship that has turned toxic is like willingly placing a loop of anger and resentment over your neck. Trying to forgive but being unable to forget will cause the noose will tighten, choking you, and the only way to avoid further distress is to cut off that rope that binds you in the first place.