Walls.

The feeling of settlement is what I fear the most. Perhaps it’s because I have spent my whole life moving around that the unfamiliarity of the feeling provokes my anxiety and depression. Settlement is not just waking up in the same room for more than year. A big part to it is contributed by the idea of letting people in, of depending on them. I have lost faith in genuine human connection to the point where I see people as disposable objects. It disgusts me that I have this notion, regardless, it plays with my subconscious. I tend to not notice it until it’s too late, until I have already sabotaged the relationship, until the damage is done. I blame my inability to process emotions. A recent talk with a psychiatrist has lead me to the realisation that this may in fact be emotional independence. But how can it, when the very reason I find it difficult to build relationships is because I perceive emotions as tools that hold me back from success, a corruption in my mind? And therefore, I reject it. It is not that I don’t feel anything, but more so that I feel everything, all at once, and to such a great intensity that it is overwhelming. For that matter, I choose to feel nothing at all. This leads me to prevent any formation of a meaningful relationship, whether it be with my family or my friends. It is painful to live with, knowing that you are so detached from everyone in your life that they become almost unrecognisable faces, the ones that you just walk past on the street without any acknowledgement.

It could be that success itself is a tool that I have devised to distract myself from building and maintaining relationships. The wish of monetary success is comforting to me, where I perceive my materialistic possessions as a replacement for the family that I have lost, not once, but twice. It is for this reason that I have difficulties with the concept of commitment and loyalty, but this doesn’t mean that I don’t care. I care very deeply about my friends, despite my mental detachment from them. I want them to be happy, to be capable of everything they want to be, to achieve every success they desire, but it comes from a source outside the barriers of emotions, I want them to have what I lack, and by spending time with them, I may be able to complete myself. That is the part my friends play in my life and so I am extremely critical and selective when it comes to making them. The effect this has on my mental strain forces me to  constantly break these relationships with what seems like at ease because it is far more natural for me to disrespect and leave someone than it is for me to stay and sustain the relationship; a fucked up defence mechanism I guess. So, I am often the bad guy, the weaker one. The ones who are worth all this effort and perseverance are the ones who stick by me nonetheless, who never give up on me, who understand that I may not always talk to them or reply to their texts but I still do very much require their presence in my life. And so I am very open and brutally honest about the way I perceive other people. You will not find me diplomatic in such cases, because I do not want to go through the hassle of disappointing someone and then disappointing myself ten fucking times more.

I do believe in love. Not the gentle, sweet and innocent one. Not the pure one, but the dirt-ridden, damaged one. Not the one that you convince yourself to feel because you are afraid of being alone, but the one that convinces you that you feel nothing. Not the one that fills a void in your life, but the void itself. The rejected element of love. But this love is powerful beyond recognition and cannot be degraded and underestimated, for it is this very emotion that snatched the bottle of alcohol from my hand, and replaced it with a pen. The love that resides in the ugly truth, and therefore, becomes painstakingly beautiful.

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”- Earnest Hemingway.

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