Wandering with the Wind...

Sunday, August 21, 2011

In some kind of strange whim, I went to scour through some of the oldest posts I've written on this blog...say, around the mid-year months in 2008. I'm not quite sure what to feel. I know I've changed a lot, in both good and bad ways, and yet instead of feeling nostalgic or melancholic, I'm actually feeling...nothing at all.

I find it inexplicably strange. For an oversensitive person like me who clings to every sentimental nuance, reviewing my past in words just didn't seem to affect me very much. I read those words I typed, and I could just hear myself two and a half years ago, saying them with an air of ignorance of what is to come and a self-centered foolishness because I thought I could control life. There was over-confidence. Stupidity. Enthusiasm and eagerness. All those yellowing posts in the depths of my archive, reeking of the stench of childishness and contempt...it sickens me to read them, it sickens me to think that I had once been this person, this arrogant individual who asserts herself so bossily and meanwhile claims to be modest. And yet, who I am now sickens me too - in a different way of course, but it averts me away from, well, myself, and I can't help but feel utterly wretched.

Sigh. I dunno, after I calmed down a little yesterday I stopped hurting myself and just...slipped into some kind of momentary reprieve. It's like a lull, a state of limbo. I felt sorry for the Me inside too. In a world where no one believes in me, who will I be if I don't believe in myself either? If I do not have faith in myself, how will I expect others not to betray me too? I may not like Me very much, but it hurts to see Me wasted too, like a mother feeling sorry after having punished her child in a fit of fury and depression. I don't think, and I don't have a heart when I hurt myself. All I wanted then was to let Me know how I hated myself, let Me know how much I have disappointed myself, and that was all I wanted.

I'm not happy of course. I never will be with this Me inside me, because I will never be good enough. But I can't hate myself continually either. Someday, sooner than later, I have to come to terms with not being perfect, with being far from perfect. That's the way things are, and since I'm not allowed to die, I have to live with it.

That's why I felt guilty. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I hope Me will forgive me.

...Fuck. How off, how insanely off, all these ridiculous things sound!

I'm feeling sorry for the girl inside me. I'm feeling sorry for that girl who would be me in my dreamscape, four years younger than the the Me in real life, too withdrawn to speak healthily and always in a state of melancholy as she wanders alone, seeking an elusive something in a vast, dynamic world. She's almost always alone, quiet, slightly frail, and without a notion of family or friend, neither of a foe, for she is isolated...just isolated and detached from the rest of the ever-changing dimension around her. She observes but does not participate. She listens but does not speak.She knows but does not teach. Just another soul drifting through time and space, with no attachments nor motivations, no meaning nor implications, drifting through an indefinite gray space to the end of time.

And that girl is in me. That girl is my inner self, and I am her when I sleep, when I close my eyes and fall into the realm of dreams and astral reality.

I punished her yesterday. For nothing. For what Me in real life did, for what she didn't do. I punished her for nothing.

You know, it's like living in two worlds. One in this solid reality, and another when I sleep, where she takes over my negative life. I am both her and not her at the same time. Sometimes I wonder what she does when I'm awake. Does she sleep in some dark recesses of my mind, like I would when she takes over in dreamscape, or does she stay perpetually awake, wandering, searching, hoping to find that something she does not know but needs to be found?

Sometimes I wonder, too, if I'm alive so I can buy her time to continue searching for that elusive thing. Maybe she lives through multiple lifetimes, infinitely, in a never-ending search for a thing she doesn't even know. Maybe she is a shadow of something that had occurred before, but which I am living to remember. I'm confused, but I'm still seeking an answer. I'm supposed to help her. I'm here to help her, and she to help me, and we're both supposed to find that something together.

I cannot abandon her, because if I look back, she who doesn't have parents, she who doesn't have friends, she who has no home to return to...I am her mother, and she is my child. My child. She is Me, and it will stay that way.

We'll pull through together, we will.

***

~~~*Waited for the Winds at 8.17pm*~~~

Aurinya blogged at 8:18 PM

Roaming the Winds