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  • Writer's pictureEphemeral

Past and Present

I think I have written about this in the past - my memory fails me because I haven't visited in quite some time. It has maybe been around a year, a blurry year, or a half at least, of a writing paralysis. A thinking paralysis too. A thinking paralysis which is not characterized by the absence of thinking, but rather by too much of it, so much so that all of one's thoughts become muddled into one gyrating whirlpool that one could actually feel behind the eyes.


A glance at one of the pieces I had written earlier registered in me ideas along the lines of contentedness and dreams and not being able to achieve things or something. It is interesting how the theme of my life changed briefly to marriage, new beginnings, new friendships, new experiences, and the intricate, stunning, beauty thereof. And yet, somehow, it has managed to circle back to the things I had been feeling at unease because of earlier. It is upsetting that no matter what I do, there is a part of me that holds on to things that are not right in my life, basically, that are not like what I had imagined them to be. And somehow they are all related to my professional life and academic inclination, and a little bit about my health, because in every other respect, touchwood, touchwood, my life is the definition of a perfect one. Basically, in my head, everything that I have in my life is perfect, except for my own abilities and skills and habits. I am the problem, in my head. And that can be a debilitating notion to live with.


I may contribute positively to others' lives, or so they say, but I fail miserably at contributing positively to my own life for some reason - at least that is how my perception has been. I do not know if it is objectively right, but I do not know how to look at it in a brighter life. Others have spent some time of their lives with me. I have been with myself forever, and time and again, failed at getting and giving myself the things that I want. So...


Anyway, I am kind of tired of being angry with myself for so long. I think I have given up on trying to like myself or approve of myself or I don't know what. I was lying with my eyes closed today, and imagined that I was in a pool, or a stream, floating. Floating away with the flow somewhere. I don't know why I visualized that, but it made gave me a sense of comfort with myself that I hadn't felt in some time.


Maybe the love of the people close to me, of the love of my life, keeps me going. I do not know what I have to offer to myself anymore, but for now I will just let myself float away somewhere, somewhere away from my own expectations and beliefs and pressures. Maybe I am meant to, for now, love others only. As I grow older, and I have started to by the way, with hair graying and what not (and it's beautiful by the way), maybe I will have a reconciliation with myself. Lots of maybes here... but at least I have love, even if not my own. This could be my way of loving myself, in fact - by letting myself float away.


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