Horror-movie distortion of reality

And I shuffled through clothes in my closet, not one felt right. “What is this thing with ‘feeling right’ anyway? Why do I think about lucky clothes and stuff every time I pick something to wear?” I thought. I was so angry at myself and picked the most bad-luck jeans I had and said “fuck that shit, my future doesn’t depend on that kind of tricks”. Then I passed in front of the mirror, and “fuck I am ugly,” I told myself. I hated what I saw in the mirror. Whom do I try to con all the time ? Trying to look pretty or to be something else? In that moment, everything else just felt apart, all the superfluous, all the things I half-believed in and I half-loved. And my hair, all falling out, I could not understand why my hair was thinning and falling so excessively, and there was nothing I could do to stop it, nor to understand the cause. It was so sudden and without any possible explanation. I talked to myself. Loud. I wanted to bang my head and crack it open. I wanted to tear my remaining hair out. I wanted to scratch open my skin.
I just wanted to die.


He did not call.

When people don’t get a call, they probably don’t even notice. If they do, they just say he’s probably busy. And get over it and continue with their work. Or they make the call themselves. They don’t go on analyzing why and how and what it means and what this in turn means and this can go on and on. I wish i could too, you know. Like just switch off this thing. and stop thinking. Stop this analyzing sprees. Because I know it’s not even an efficient mechanism: it cannot consider all the factors and variables that actually are involved. It’s missing many of them and it follows branches of thought that are specifically the most self-destructive until it reaches a very dark place where you’re miserable and there’s no way out, except violence, hatred: self-hatred and hatred of the other. And your thought dwells there and it takes root there. And it becomes very hard to uproot it again. it’s like falling into this infinite spiral and it’s really dark down there. And it’s like. this diseased thing. a cancerous cell multiplying and dividing itself; expanding exponentially, abnormally and alarmingly fast. it feels like it’s gonna destroy you till you die, just like cancer, or till you go crazy. Going crazy is more scary than dying.

Yeah i wish i could just not bother about it.. but when i don’t get a call, this is what happens in my head:


It’s not pretty. and it’s scary too. And i’m not responsible for it. If i were, i’d stop at the first question. and have a blank page and a blank mind. but it’s overcrowded, it’s going overboard, it’s too much for a little head. and i wish i could channel this into something creative or beautiful, but it doesn’t work like that. it goes into directions i do not want it to go, it doesn’t follow any orders, it’s the one in command, and I have to watch its drama show. ‘It’ is not Me. No. I should not identify with It. but it’s part of me. Denying this doesn’t make it go away. On top of that i know all this is just an ego-play. In reality there’s no 2 there’s only 1. There’s no separation between him and I. Acidheads, sages and shamans will say there’s no 2, so all that is going on in your head is invalid. But my mind. it wont listen. Thought, in its very nature is dualistic and divisive, so it is bound to create the distance, the space, the distinction, the expectations, the hatred, the hurt, the jealousy, the other woman. No she isn’t born out of my thought. i hate the other woman. yes i do. and i freaking do. We’re not 1. i’m not her. To hell with the acidheads and sages and shamans : make me feel one with her and I’ll believe you. Till then I hate her and i’m gonna hate him because of her.