Day 03: Something with which you struggle.
Each day, I struggle with sanity in an illusion called “reality”. After being exposed to the unhelpful authorities (trust me on this one), corrupted government (believe me on this too), friendly “aliens”, poisonous “chemtrails”, real “wormholes”, ungrateful relatives, not compassion from family members, starving and homeless folks and all the worldwide ills yet unresolved, I want answers!
I see with my eyes. But I’m still blind. I read online articles, which don’t make sense. I watch televised programming, which renders me speechless. I witness death, which numbs my pains.
I hear with my eyes. But I’m still deaf. I find myself reading the lips of people and actually have a hard time filtering background noises (including my inner dialogues of endless chatter). After being I’ve been diagnosed with a lost of hearing in the higher frequency, I’m missing out on the crispy clear sounds of baby parakeets chirping, the whistling sounds of the kettle boiling or the pitter, patter of raindrops falling.
I speak with my mouth. But I’m still mute. No matter how hard I try to share my personal experiences, no one would believe me. Like Paw, monologue is comfortable to moi. We expect our listeners to fill in the blanks and read our minds. We have a difficult time expressing our thoughts coherently and this is due to insecurity and lack of communication. The constant criticism from more formidable debaters shuts down our creative flow of thoughts, too.
I eat well and have a healthy appetite. But I’m getting sick. Recently, I got worried that I could be pre-diabetic. It’s expected because of my predisposition genetically and the fact I love eating good food. Overall, I’m getting clogged with high cholesterol and triglycerides — both of which, too, I’ve inherited. But that’s okay because I’m still alive.
I look in the mirror and I want out! Honestly, I want a different body. But this is the best I’ve got or so I’ve chosen this form for the meantime. No amount of beauty products or plastic surgery could validate how I feel on the inside. I swear I could just wear a burqua to hide my ugliness and be happy.
Overall, I still struggle with my sense of self — learning how to behave despite my will to break free and to cooperate with “reality” the best I could by being “friendly” and honest. In spite of my current setbacks, there’s still hope, I guess. I keep praying for guidance, too.
Leave a Reply