Friday, August 19, 2011

No one ever wants to talk about it, man. And the worst part about that is, it makes you believe that the thing you wanted to talk about isn't even there. And that doesn't relieve me with its suggestion of a lack of a problem warranting discussion. It gives me this really deep feeling of nihilism.

Like say you have a problem. And rather than diagnose it, treat it or provide some solution/coping mechanism for it, they try to make it out that there isn't any problem to begin with. What can you do then? Where are you left when your family doctor, the guy you trustingly called up to ask why your spleen hurts so bad, takes advantage of your temporary weakness and makes away with your organs? Damn, that's morbid.

See, because the point is that when you admit your problem, you're admitting that you're stupid enough not to know how to handle it yourself. When you do that, you enable them to fill your head up with any story they care to concoct. And you have to believe it, because you don't have your own answers. It's called 'faith'. And it's holy, because you have to accept it without questioning, especially since you have no other choice. God forbid that you point out some inherent flaws in the story you're being told, or offer the anxiety that you have been misunderstood. It would just be construed as arrogance, or labelled as the very same stubbornness on your part because of which the problem persists.

Anyhoo, I wish I could talk. I wish stuff could be talked about, and not be so friggin ineffable all the time; it would really help clear my doubts and set things right for me and my mind. These doubts are eating my mind away. I want my mind back.


Anonymous said...

wistful (1)

shewolf said...

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