Apparently there is nothing hiding the melancholy in my words anymore, even those I write…
It has become obvious that balance has been lost and the simple joy of preserving ones self image no longer means what it once did.
If I had to describe my feelings I could only say they’re akin to walking though a labyrinth, not knowing what is around the corner or which way will lead to your salvation. The confusing twists and turn have gone past the point of being a mere annoyance and are now starting to affect the real world. I forget things more easily, my motivation peaks and plummets without notice and worst of all my need for social integration diminishes by the hour leading me to no longer even attempt to make excuses not to see those closest too me, I’m now simply avoiding them and shutting my self down.
The worst part is I’ve also made up my mind and I’m simply waiting for the opportune moment to do what I feel I need to do. The ego has taken over the mind in a last ditch effort to save itself and no matter what thoughts, logic or emotion gets put in place the decision has already been made…
The ego must live.
As with anything there is only so much of something we can have before it goes from therapeutic to lethal. Be this food, medicine, water/fluids, sleep and even thought, eventually we will reach the tipping point.
I wonder where their tipping point will be, each day they endure more of the same, drowning in it’s entirety. There can surely not be much more that is required to make the scale tip and cause things to change and never be the same again. Maybe the loss will make them understand.
Listening to the old ladies chomping down slices of cake while slurping their tea and cackle away as if the world owe them a favour does make me smile, simple because they’ve gotten to the point where the scales has long since been tipped and not matter what it won’t ever be balanced again, at least they’re still smiling.
The elderly group are always polite to me, they always ask how things are along with the general niceties, but this is often an excuse to tell me of their woes and how life has been so cruel to them. Everyday it’s more of the same, the same depressing shit that I don’t care for, but it helps them disperse the does and keep it from reaching the point where it becomes lethal. I will listen as always, but not because it helps them but because distract from my own thoughts.
I wonder what my lethal does is.