Monthly Archives: March 2013

Silent Words of Intention

There is a large part of me that seems almost unmercifully curious. Even when facing potential harm, dangers or fears I have, my curiosity has always been one to push me far beyond my comfort zone to acquire the information I desire. The only exception in its aggression is that if it involves another living thing, it would not drive me beyond my desire to keep the peace or least my desire not to offend others. Usually at least.

I would gladly borderline insult those of whom I am unfamiliar with if it answers the questions I have in my head. Anyone close to being familiar would have the mercy of my built-in stopgap measures that strives so hard to be socially acceptable.

Rather than a fear of being insensitive, the fear of being invasive seems to be the greater force at play. Sure, there is fear of being rude by being insensitive. But when it comes to people I’m familiar with, there is always more a fear of invading more into their lives than they would prefer. Would my questions be probing to deep into their lives? Would my curiosity basically be an invasion of privacy? Would my interactions at all be a bothersome thing?

It is common to assume ‘no guts glory’ or ‘nothing ventured nothing gained’, but far too often, fear finds a way to bind me. And far too often, I find myself agreeing to the logic of what my fear provides.

Life as it is always ends up revolving around a delicate balance between what is acceptable and what is not. That balance is possibly the hardest thing on earth to gauge for me.

The Little Creaks That Echo

It seems when my sleep to awake hours starts getting skewed throughout the day, I get gradually more depressive. While not massively relevant, it does explain the few previous posts and possibly why I have yet to graduate any of my more serious thoughts from drafts to posts.

But that is not to say it was a complete streak. There was a time for several days where I have been decently well. Most likely due to excessive sleeping no less. Though I can certainly admit to depressive swings, I most certainly do not find that it has yet to affect my life is any way significant. Hence the lack of bother was given to this “issue”.

I function, and that is all that matters.

Peering Past Deaf Ears

There is joy in drowning within a personal universe made especially just for you. Where everything you want in the world is all that is over there right now. Everything fits, and everything falls perfectly into place. The only thing you miss out on is everything else.

The beauty and curse behind earphones and headphones are the fact that once they are on, the rest of the world is nothing but background noise, almost literally. In such a state, one can just immerse themselves in a state where things are just wonderfully delightful.

But wearing such headgear effectively tells me that you have absolutely no desire to communicate with another human being within your proximity so long as they are still on. Sure, you could always grant me the privilege by taking them off while talking. But it doesn’t help in any way shape or form to make you seem any more approachable or willing to socialize at all.

I am not denying the convenience and joys of wearing such a thing though. I happily prefer my headphones over speakers when I am alone in my room. But to do so publicly when there are those of whom you are familiar with seems almost anti-social. Almost.

However I do not deny that it seems very much like an enjoyable thing to do, drowning out the rest of the world. Being able to ignore the world sounds fun. To block off all the grating human interactions and obligated social niceties via feigning a lack of notice seems very pleasant indeed.

A Feather’s Weight Worth in Hope

Because I know, from the words, actions and inactions. From statistics and behaviour and of course personal bias. That is not to say I am certain of course.

I am well aware of my own fallibility, my own flaws, and my own ability to read far too much into any situation. While I can always stop, I find myself in a situation where I truly want to know. To know not just to satiate my curiosity but to confirm whether or not my fears are in fact justified. I want to know simply for the satisfaction I would gain of knowing. Whether or not it may be a validation that would please or displease me, I am almost pressured just by not knowing. But I would never ask.

I reside in shadows and blend in as often and seamlessly as I can, because it is always fun to watch, to observe. It would mean that I would never be an actual player but often it is my nature to avoid such a risk of pain even if it is at the expense of joy. Standing where I am, I remain content. Not happy, but content.

But I do want to hope. I do want to get out of my comfort zone. I want to break out of the shell that defines me, grab your shoulders and shake you and say “do you see me? I am here! I am alive! I exist! And I want you to know that I hear you and I care!”.

Yet I would remain unseen, unheard and unspoken of. Because I am here, and I stay where I am, and I burn the hope that always so tenaciously tries to rise over and over again.

Tracing The Past of an Arm Once Harmed

Looking back at the various fragments of my memories that are in pieces large enough to make sense, I often find myself questioning just what exactly has caused me to allow myself to be as emotionally slightly out of place as I am now. I don’t find myself to be particularly one dimentional, sure. Most people don’t and I would like to think most people aren’t as well. But I doubt that with so many citizens of planet earth, I am of a unique flavour.

I see the world in a way that simply does not require a larger force at play to entertain, please or pity me. Everyone else is everyone else, I am me. I expect ignorance from the universe, anything else would be a surprise. Considering statistics at least, there are certainly those who are better off than I am, and there are certainly those who are much worse. Being part of the spectrum just makes me as normal as anyone else. So long as one does not reside at the ends of said spectrum, one could easily fit in.

However when I look into my skin which writes a past, I begin to wonder just how far off a societal accepted norm I am. In terms of external manisfestations at least I’m sure I’ve got most of it pinned down, but my thoughts remain the same. It is only my action of which I have chosen to change, in this case, my decision to not take action. Yet considering the world once again, there are those who are far more south than I am, and it is not strange to note that I am in fact, reasonably normal in such a comparison.

The sum of my experiences may have molded me to think in a way that deviates slightly from one who would have had a different experience, but given that if they had experienced what I have, would they not be any different from me?

I sit on the shoulders of the giants I can reach, in the shadows of those beyond me, and I see the world in a way I don’t find uncommon. It has the good, the bad, the ugly, not unlike what any other person would think. My considerations on the matter often does not stray much from most others though I do often tend to have a more pessimistic and sadistic view of the world, but that stems completely from my sense of selfishness. As would for most others once they would come to accept this as fact I’m sure.

Growing up, I’ve learned to let go of many trains of thoughts. Regret, blame, and pity to name a few. Too often too many humans waste their time and effort wasting away at exercising their rights to these emotions and actions, when one could just as easily be a little more self critical and solve many more things. Yet at the same time I find myself simultaneously giving up hopes, dreams and happiness. To stop pursuing that which I would see then as also being a waste of effort and time. It would seem nowadays I still mostly hold on to this, as much as it might seem a negative quality to many.

Perhaps the most influencial tool I had from my upbringing was the capacity to be self critical. On the one hand, to see oneself as being fallable gives plenty of room for improvement. Though on the other, it did lead to, in my case at the very least, a lot more self blame than most humans would probably encounter. Probably.

The undeniable fact about this however, is that it has given me a much higher willingness to learn, and a much lower self confidence. That is not to say I have not noticed or done anything about it. Emulating confident behaviour is not something particularly hard to do and actions can in fact help invoke the proper thought process, but it is something that does not reflect what I am. That said, if one behaves confidently, speaks confidently, and is capable of putting up a display of confidence, does a cowardice thought process still makes one a coward?

When I think of the fragments of my past that has left its traces onto me, I sometimes find myself being awefully aware of the effect it has given. An almost tingly sensation as my arm starts to feel almost uneasy, almost, waiting for more.

I can’t deny that the idea has crossed my mind time and time again for the past several years of my life. Though substitutes can be imagined and applied, there is nothing quite like it. To simply take all the frustration and anger and uneasiness and discomfort and sadness and despair and loathing and just erase it, just like that. Or having been brought to life out of the cold and numb and repetitive and dead world.

To have such an instant and efficient solution for feeling overwhelmed or fading into nothingness, it seems almost a shame I had willingly kept myself from it.