The Concept of Me

Dear Diary,

Today I woke up and the world inside me was on fire. My heart is leaping and running marathons in my chest, but I can’t stand up because my legs have been severed.

My arms have gone missing, and my brain is like scrambled eggs.

“Do this, do that,” it says. But it doesn’t comprehend that I’ve lost my soul.

I’ve been shattered into tiny pieces and I can’t find them anymore. How do I glue them back together if I don’t know where they’ve gone?

I’m not sad, I’m not anything. It’s like I don’t exist. I’m slowly fading away. The clock is staring down and laughing at me. Giggling in an evil way. Like it knows a secret I don’t.

I don’t exist. I’m made out of skin and bones and blood and emotions and thoughts and opinions, just like everyone else. And I’m alive, but I’m dead. I’m past, present and future.

“What’s going on with you?” they ask. But how can I respond if my own brain doesn’t keep up with my heart?

So many things to do, but so little willpower and desire. I’ve lost faith in what I’m doing.

I don’t shed tears. Not because they would make me look weak or vulnerable, but because I physically can’t. Like I said, my body, soul and mind are not really connected anymore.

Am I just a project of a human being gone unfortunately wrong? Is this feeling ever going to subside? Will I ever find the pieces I lost so I won't be a broken machine anymore? That’s the million dollar question.

But I don’t know if I’m depressed, burnt out or just tired.

I feel exhausted. I’m done with the world itself. But not because I want to die, but because I’ve had it with the way things are. The world inside me and the world outside me.

Joy is a long lost memory. But not because I don’t experience it, but because when it comes it’s fleeting and it just leaves that sweet taste on your tongue that turns bitter in seconds.

Joy is like a mayfly. It flies close to you and when you try to reach out to grab it, it flies away. And then it dies in a matter of hours.

It doesn’t fulfill me anymore, but I can’t really tell what’s wrong with me.

I don’t feel sad, I just feel under and overwhelmed at the same time. Am I really human anymore? A broken shell and a broken chest. Can they configure a person?

I’m not stressed, because there’s nothing to stress over. Yes, I know I set high expectations for myself. But I still love myself, I still understand the little girl inside me. But does she understand me? Are we just out of sync?

I think that’s the real question: am I just out of sync? And how can I tune into myself again? What have I lost? What have I left behind? What have I found? What has changed?

I’m a grown ass woman now, but I feel more like a child than before. I feel spoiled. Like a spoiled child and spoiled milk at the same time. Twelve and sixty years old all at once.

If I set my mind to it, will I accomplish the things that I want? Is it just a question of brainpower, mindset, and action?

Or is life always going to be this boring? I guess that’s the one word I’d use to describe everything right now: boring.

Boring, boring, boring, boring, boring.

I’m so bored.

But I can’t be bothered to change?

Will a doctor ever be able to analyse and explain these feelings or am I just lost in space? Somewhere between hell and earth and paradise? Like limbo. I feel stuck in limbo.

Creative limbo, personal limbo, social limbo, romantic limbo. Fuck!

What do you do when you’re stuck in limbo? Is there a key I can look for to unlock the door back to the present? Is there a solution? Because right now I feel blinded to any fucking solution to these problems and questions.

Then again, I don’t feel sad. But how to explain it? I feel hungry and full at the same time, vicious and nauseous, overflowing and half-empty, here and nowhere, grateful and ungrateful, bitter and sweet, completely lit up and in total, utter darkness.

Do I just need a friend to lend a hand? Do I just need to go out and explore? ‘Touch some grass’? Feel the wind on my face? Go swimming in the sea and never come back? Maybe I’m a mermaid, who knows.

But how can a mermaid be so quick to drown in her own frustrations?

Agony, confusion, frustration. These are the three words that best describe my emotional makeup. Ever since I was little. I look back into the past and I try to see if I was any different. Sure, I had hope. I was still exploring and getting to know the world, but I was always different from other kids. I always had this glow about me, this ‘specialness’. But not in a good way. It’s like I was born tired, wistful.

Now, I’m just disappointed. Because I thought life, and living, were going to be more fun. But life is just a marathon full of stupid checkpoints and roads going up, then down, then up, then down, then down, then up. But how can I run when my legs have been severed, like I said?

Is there a cure for boredom? Is there a cure for being over life, but not wanting to die? I’ve always felt I was destined for more than this, but maybe I’m just broken. Maybe I’m an artist exactly because I was born different. Because I knew too much from the beginning. But now this wisdom is catching up to me. Time is catching up to me, and although it’s of the essence, it’s also the essence of everything, including dread, death, and philosophical questions. Ha.

What the hell am I doing here? What is my purpose? I’ve been asking myself that a lot lately. And I feel so close to uncovering it. But at the same time, do I want to find out? Do I wanna live inside the lines of what God or the Universe or the Cosmos or Whatever intended for me?

And if God is real, which I am starting to believe It is (and I say It, not Him, because I don’t believe in the way Christianity explains God), is he ever going to lend a hand? Is he dead? Has he gone missing? I know that’s a very pessimistic frame of mind. And I don’t necessarily believe it. But I don’t necessarily not believe it.

And that’s exactly what’s so funny about me: I’m everything and nothing and everything in between, but none of them at the same time. I’m a concept, I’m not real.

I’m a concept. And maybe concepts can’t be fully explained, right? But I don’t want to be the “pixie-cut-romantic-lead-beautiful-girl-next-door” or the “blonde-bombshell-madness-sex-symbol” either.

I’m not a gender-assigned or Hollywood concept of a person. I can’t be explained. I don’t fit into the mold. You can’t typecast or fit me in a box. I can’t think outside or inside the box because the box doesn’t exist. It’s a concept, just like me.

Some people will say I’m the intelligent, genius-like creative girl. Some people will say I’m the dumb blond. Hell, some people will say I’m brunette, some people will say I’m a redhead. Some people will say I’m beautiful, some people will say I’m hideous, some people will say I’m boring, some people will say I’m the most interesting thing they’ve ever laid eyes on.

But people can’t expect things from me because I’m the sea. I’m unpredictable. I’m just a human being. And yes, I’m strong, ambitious, amazing, and smart. But I’m also dumb, lazy, weak and disappointing.

And right now, I’m disappointing myself and the world. Or is the world disappointing me? How can you tell one from the other?

Maybe I wasn’t meant for this life. But not because I’m “better” than everyone else, or even because I don’t amount. But because it doesn’t make any sense. I don’t make sense, the world certainly doesn’t make any sense. And is that the beauty of life everyone talks about? That we don’t necessarily fit into the world because everything’s senseless?

Does anyone out there feel the same way as I do? Or perhaps close to how I feel? Or am I just awake in a dream while everyone else sleepwalks through life?

To me, this life is a predicament. And I’m a dilemma that can’t ever be uncovered or explained.

Is every other human being just like me and they just simply shut up about it? Or are there people who make sense and understand their place in the world and feel good and content about it?

That’s it: I’ll never be content with anything. Anything life gives me. And I know that for a fact. I know that if I acquire or reach the level of success that I intend for myself, that I won’t be fulfilled. It won’t be enough. I won’t be able to just sit down and say: “Okay, this is it. Now I can say I’ve made it.” Because, how do you know you’ve ‘made it’?

I’m restless, it won’t ever be enough. But also, I’m always tired. Tired and restless and going after what I want and then stopping midway, and then also sabotaging myself, because isn’t it fun to self-sabotage?

And also, am I just frustrated? Like I said before, yes, I am. But is that all? If I wasn’t so frustrated with myself and the world, would I feel different? Would I be blinded too? Could I open the blinds and finally feel in tune with the sun?

And it’s not like I don’t. I feel very in tune with nature itself. When I’m quiet, just staring at a beautiful landscape during sundown and feeling the wind on my face and my hairs, and the sunrays filling my chest and my body with Vitamin D, I feel like I understand. You know? It’s like I understand nature, but I don’t understand the man-made world.

But you could argue that I’m just vitamin deficient. Or with a hormone imbalance. Which, yes, I am. And I know that for a fact. But if I get my body fully satisfied with what it needs, will my mind change? Will the way I see things change? Will the lens I’ve acquired mold into something else?

Perhaps. And maybe I should give it a try and get back to you later.

But for now, this is all I’ve got.