I see so many things that are not in my control, so many things I want but cannot have. My chest is tight with frustration, my teeth clamped in anger. Tears brim, but I’m too bitter to release them, to be cleansed by them.
I see her and how he loved her, how she is so different from me, how she is admired and graceful and lovely. And I find that what I thought was pure motivation to do more with my life was actually tainted, fueled by jealousy and inadequacy. And I found myself staring green-eyed and hungry at a life I did not know yet wishing I could have it and so much more; to crush it, to defeat it, to shine brighter and burn it out was all I wanted. But it is so far beyond comparison now. She was just the “poster-child” for this growing disease inside my head, this voice of inadequacy that speaks to me.
“She has it, she has it. You must, you must.”
I find I am deeply, illogically, sickeningly unsatisfied. I want perfection, but the illusion of it is not enough. The voice tells me I must be perfect not just in image but in my mind, for what is beauty without intellect? What is a compelling face without a capturing soul?
My imperfections have begun eating away at my sanity–how can I possibly be all of the things I dream of being? And how can I bear to be patient and work for one desire at a time when the “Need to Be More” is constantly breathing down my neck? And what of all the things I simply will never be that are and will continue to eat away at me day after day?
These jealous dreams are so heavy, growing even more-so. And they paralyze me, making me unable to move on.
“You cannot be everything; you cannot be anything at all.”
I feel caged by who I am, what I am, and who/what I am known to be. This is the shell I am forced to live in? But I feel I have outgrown it, out-dreamed it! So what if I have a thin frame, a pleasant face, and a pair of hands that trail with artsy things…
“That is not enough now. You must be more. You must.”
I want to express my life in other ways this cage will not allow. This body cannot dance in the way my soul begs me to dance. It cannot pull itself up high enough to reach what my heart is desperately, manically, reaching for. I—heart, mind, body, soul—feel I cannot move in any sense of the word. I feel caged. I feel caged by this weak body, my weak drive, my weak abilities, this unknowledgeable, unexperienced, ignominious, ugly life I have lived…
But trying now to so rapidly make up for 20 years of wastefulness is ruining me.
“You must learn, you must work, you must know, you must captivate, you must, you must, you must…”
There is always more to be done, always more to absorb from the world. Life is so big. I know this, and knowing this saved me in the past. But now I find it is too big. There exists too much, and I am burdened to want it all. I want every part of life, but there isn’t enough room in this shell or in this cage for me to take it all in.
Yet I continue to try the impossible. I am a mental glutton of this world. So much I try to stuff down and devour in attempts to be more—be everything, be perfect. Intelligence, culture, language, history, etiquette, knowledge is… beautiful. And I have acquired this disease, this addiction inside my head that whispers to me that I must, at all times, be taking it in. At all times, until, inside of me, exists the world.
I am aware of how irritating my inconsolable querulousness must be to read, yet I simply cannot allow myself the quiet anymore, cannot grant myself the pleasure and reward of stillness for my diligent attempts at self-betterment. I cannot accept the blessing of sleep… I cannot sleep. Sleep feels a waste of life to me now, like sleeping will anger the voice inside my head that pushes me to be more. I desperately want to want sleep, but it has made me bitter, merely filling my head with more unpursued dreams that grow heavy, feeding the sickness
“To every eye that beholds you, be absolutely breathtaking, then you can sleep.”
The more I desire to know the less I find I am capable of knowing in my lifetime. Curse my mind! Curse this disease that has sprung up and tangled into my life. How can I go on, knowing I can only have so much of what I want? How can I go on, with so little inside myself of what I know exists? How can I go on, knowing I will live and die in a day and never know the fullness of what life is?
My ephemeral life… I will only ever know the world with this one life–I want to live the life of the billions. I want to live and relive forever. Reincarnation–so compelling, though I do not believe in it.
Hungry “Time” does not flinch as it consumes me, feeds me face-first and fighting through the black hole of the present and into nothingness. Time never looks back. So, when I am fully gone, I am gone, from existence and from the memory of this earth. It will never remember me as the girl hopelessly in love with a world so big, which always took twice from her what it allowed her to take from it. My whole life, all my struggle, all my dreams, anything I have and will accomplish–gone, nothing, unacknowledged by time and space, unremembered.
God, what is life for? I need heaven.
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