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There is a blank sheet of paper on my desk. Waiting. Staring back at me with blind eyes. Waiting for a word, a phrase, a plan. I had this thought a moment ago, under the shower: what was your best holiday? Did you ever go to the airport without a sense of destination, without a ticket in your pocket, your passport, and the latest copy of a LP guide? Would you rather, on arrival, run like a headless chicken or walk straight to the bus terminal as if you had always known where it was? And here you are, in the middle of the grandest voyage of all, without a plan, a guide, a sense of direction. Lost.

Next to the sheet of paper is a vial. A small glass vial with no label, a one way ticket to oblivion.

And between the endless space of these two blanks, there is you. You, me, and I. With your endless questions and retorts. Yesterday, a part of me died (see my earlier thread, if you are interested). Probably the best part of me died yesterday. Leaving me in want of a plan. Where will you carry what is left?

We all die. That is a certitude. The only certitude in life. What an oxymoron! In the end, in the long run, in the very long run, nothing matters. Nothing at all. We are not wired to understand certain things, just like our eyes are incapable of seeing in the IR or the UV. And yet, amidsts this blindness, all I see is her.
You wake up in the morning, senses returning, slowly or abruptly. Long gone the days when you needed an alarm clock. You start each day with a choice. Either counting the spider webs you see from the bed or making your way to work. Whilst in absolute terms, everyone faces the same decision, you perfectly know that it is your sick mind that brings it on a tablet and puts it on the bedside table, instead of freshly squeezed orange juice, coffee and half a slice of toast. Depression is but an over acuteness of the senses, a negation of living with eyes wide shut. How ironical that truth should be so paralyzing. The curse of knowledge. There is no arrogance in these words, no sense of superiority whatsoever. You can't even start to explain how much you hate the you in you, how you want to muzzle every word you say, every thought you have. You seek quietude in solitude and end up drowning in the cacophony of your own words. Silence. The sound of silence has become your single quest. You tried, you really tried, again and again and again, to listen to other words. Words from your caring friends, your family. Words from mentors. Words in books, in movies, in palys. Words in songs. They don't resonate. They only make you want for more silence. The only way to find silence is to find someone who challenges you, your ideas, your thoughts, your beliefs, your dogmas, your imagination, your lack thereof, your false certitudes, your misconceptions. All you need is a south to your north pole. It's as simple is that. Depression or not, I believe that very, very few people have had that good fortune, the fortune of finding the exact or at least best matching antimatter. You, of all people, had that incredible luck. But you didn't see it, did you? Blinded by your sickness. Your other sickness. One of so many. And you let it go. You let her go. You lost her. For ever.

total eclipse

SF Friend
Staff Alumni
You mind certainly is not of silence it is full of words of emotions of reasoning.
You have such eloquence with words yet your reasoning is so clouded some how distorted with your own illness.
Depression sucks i get that but it is treatable and one can recover from it. One has to choose which path to take one of fighting to get well or one of lying down and shutting ones mind off to support to knowledge that one can heal and go forward. I hope you can open that mind and see more clearly perhaps with support you will hugs
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