Heartbreak

"Life is too short to be restraining yourself."

No, it's not. It's too long, way too long. Painfully long, like waiting an eternity for a doctor's appointment.
It can hurt a lot too. So much so, that you forget how to breath. It causes headaches, that make you lose your ability to reason and when, that's not enough, the pain finds its way through your body.
Then the mental pain transports itself into your chest, where your heart actually feels like it is being stomped on and is slowly falling apart into tiny icy pieces.
Even worse, the pain inside your head and the numbness inside your arms and legs can't compare to the aching beating of your heart, as if it's giving up on itself. Beating hard and slowly.
You feel the beating in your whole body, right through your soul, with loud echoes. This sensation can be overwhelming, you want to scream for it to stop, it's too much at once.
Please, just become silent!
Suddenly everything loses its color. It's just a dark pitch of nothingness, where beauty has come to die. Colors have received a grey layer of ash. They have lost their vibrant tones, it's empty and hollow. Music turns into a huge chaos of random notes, the songs you once loved, only give you headache. Your mouth is only means to save you from starvation, everything tastes the same anyway. It's all empty, shallow, boring and lifeless.
This is the naked truth of the world and the truth is an ugly grey lifeless reality.
If one were to say, that this numb feeling of emptiness would never stop, I'd eventually figure out how to live my life. Empty, but bearable.
Had that person said that the anxious twist in my stomach would last forever, I'd have no problems giving away my soul, just so the pain could finally go away. This sensation of constant nausea was the climax, the only emotion that was both the darkest moment of your life, but also the most emotion driven. Oddly enough, perhaps something to look forward to, just to escape the numbness.
But these are all consequences to the real problem that's buckled inside of you. The flame that kept you ignited, has slowly lost its flame.
You decide that the world has become grey and empty, therefor you become grey and empty. There is nothing left to intrigue you anymore.
The only thought resonating before you fall asleep is how you will manage to get yourself up the other day. How will you face the smiling people around you? How should you dress? How should you present yourself, when all interest in the outside world had been lost?
And when those days come, you know that there is nothing to enjoy about it or to feel intrigued about.
It will eventually pass anyway, you tell yourself. Before you can laugh at that joke, your mind tells you shouldn't laugh this way. Or that it's not worth enjoying yourself, since it's a matter of time it will all eventually turn into air and dust.
This alone is enough to make your day lose its value. And so you dread waking up every morning, not only wanting to avoid others, but most of all yourself in front of others.
Covered in blankets in your dark room with no sound is the only safe spot.
And you will cry to a point where you feel there is no hydration left inside your body.
Always swinging from one extreme to another. From extreme sadness or happiness to empty numbness.
There is nothing you can control. Worst of all, what people might actually think of you. Yet they're always liars, when they do tell you what it is they see, because they cannot justify this amount of ugliness, whether it is in character or appearance.
You've finally seen the world in its true colors. Endless shades of grey. The truth of the world is an ugly one and you're carrying the weight with you everywhere you go.
It's so hard to explain your emptiness, since it's hard to speak about nothingness. So you might as well keep quiet and not give away too much of your odd self.
People you care for might leave forever. They have a colorful world to run after.  A long life of new discoveries, while you feel that you've been stuck on the same date for months with no progress whatsoever.
The scariest part is losing people you care for most. How long will they patiently wait before the flowers of spring alert them that the grey winter has passed and a colorful spring is awaiting them? Is it selfish of you to expect them to wait? Or is that what friends are for?
Your voice consists out of deep sigh. There is no voice, because little can be said with a mind so filled with confusion.
We might as well give up all together. He'll leave you eventually and he'll find someone more attractive, you were just a phase.
Your family only wishes for your happiness, which you can't promise. They might give up and eventually learn to safely enter and exit your grey world.
Your friends will find other people who can make them laugh. And in the beginning you'll desperately run after them. Always the first to message your best friend, as she has other things on her mind. Always trying to stay a bit longer to socialise and try to laugh a bit. Well, whatever.
Never mind it. Eventually only that what works is good in life. This didn't work and there's no point to anything, so there is no reason to hope for anything more.
You just want to lie down in bed and close your eyes and in the end, stop existing all together.

Diary of a Certain Lady: Chapter 10 (End)

Epilogue:

They got me. They have found her and thrown me inside this place. What can I say? It was nice for as long as it lasted, but extases aren't meant forever.
I must give it to you, lady Fortuna, you are indeed worthy of praise.  I have finally bowed before you. Are you happy now? Have I done well and pleased you? The control over the world is back inside your hands and I, as your humble servant, can’t, but obey these laws of determinism. 
It was quite a wild adventure, I have never felt alive as I had right then and there. My mind is clean and the sight of Mother has finally left me. Yes, I’ve finally fallen into immorality and sin. The right path has shown itself before me. Although oddly enough, I would’ve never thought that it would be a diabolic lady like yourself who controlled the injustice that led to my fall. But now I do understand that it wasn’t you who was injustice, it was me. Mother was the only thing keeping me on your path, yet I had ignored her presence, even after I had declared her as death. My heart beats peacefully though, with the right pauses at the right moments. Air feels fresher, colors more vibrant. Oh how blissfully immoral I was, yet I knew it was all thanks to you, lady Fortuna. 
My Light has lost her flames. That saddens me though. Yet at the same time, I feel blessed by you. Had it not been for you, I would’ve never known her in the first place. The torture and despair she had caused me and I had caused her made my stomach twist and turn. Oh how joyfully red the carpet was stained with her insides. How vibrant the colors, how sharp the sounds she made. I can’t thank you enough for showing me all of this. I was foolish for not listening. I understand that a queen ows her name to her followers. What a plague and disease I must’ve been to your perfect laws of causality.  A horrible sight it must’ve been for you. 
Know now that I’ve seen the Light. I know you had demanded my immoral mannerism and I have acted upon them, as I should. 
Bless you and know, that I, your humble writer, bear no regrets for whatever I have done. 

On Rejection and Nihilism

There were, are and will be times in your life in which you will experience rejection. This in itself is a terrifying fact that we cannot escape, let alone know how the live with it and sharpen or norms to its bitter existence. 
And out of all states of mind, this one in particular bears a stingy feeling of discomfort with it. Just because of its so called destroying nature.
A sense of rejection is a state of mind that destroys hopes, aspirations and dreams. It is the grandfather of nihilism. The grieving mother that gave birth to a son it didn’t want. 
There's no denying every single one of humanity has faced rejection in some way or another. And how macabre it was to experience powerlessness. Trying but not achieving. That moving forward doesn’t guarantee that desired throne we wanted to sit upon while the a warm voice is saying: “You have done your best, my child. It was enough and more than worth it.”
And we, the gods of the new world, who reign over it behind our technological innovation, seem not to have accepted the power of defeat that so mercilessly has proven its existence over and over again to us through the centuries of failing. But that's no wonder, seeing our pride. 
And yet I ask you to remember, that one time in your life where you had shown the world your brilliance in the form of a talent you possess or by hard work. And how wonderful it felt to have finally talked yourself into being courageous. One final step forward and you would have reached your end. 

(I realise I am intentionally enlarging the situation, but only with the purpose that it will the more relatable. These general lines of experience are what every human goes through before the final blow)

And when the rejection finally does take place, it is not just the sense of judgment laid upon your act in itself that may stir your emotions, it is all that positive buildup from beforehand that suddenly collapses all together. And it falls and it crumbles, draining every bit of confidence and courage you had in mere seconds. And what you’re left with is angst, followed by an emotionless state of mind that’s too shocked to even comprehend what just had happened. 

This is rejection. So familiar and mind numbing it us.  This is the grandfather of nihilism. A crusher of ideals. The stone in our path that stops us from moving forward, not being able to look into the future. Yet it makes us regret looking back and hating ever having chosen this path. Imagine this for multiple times in your life. A path that stops halfway, yet being told that if you try hard enough one day you will reach your throne and you will comfortably reign over the worries of yourself and, if you’re idealistic enough, of humanity. This lie becomes the engine of your pursuit of happiness. What you’re left with is a huge nothingness. Nothing to move forward too, but to drained to even consider another way. So you sit there in the middle of the road. Stuck between two possible extremes. 

As a considerate reader you might have seen similarities to The Myth of Sysiphus by Camus, in which Sysiphus was doomed to eternally roll a rock up a mountain, just to see it tumbling down just as he reached the end. Let me elaborate on this. 
“Let us imagine Sysiphus happy”, Camus said. Let us imagine he is considering rolling up the rock as a life project in which he can still realise himself in some sort of form, by which he is not doomed to emptiness. That even in the most miserable situations it is possible to idealise oneself and to try realise that goal. 
Let me then pose the following contra-statement. Let us imagine, I say, that it is not a miserable place we live in, but that we are in paradise. That this society of empty consumption has realised itself into our paradise, in which we have no shortcomings. Complaining would be shushed. The habitants of paradise would be pointing at the damned burning in hell telling me: “But at least, you’re not them.” By which I would subject to this argumentum ad absurdum and nod in agreement. 
Imagine in this scenario that it is us living in paradise, but we are unhappy. There is little to nothing to achieve, that truly matters to our existence in the broadest sense. Things that would truly make us worse off by missing the chase of it or understanding the meaning of the word by true experience instead of false imagery. 
In this paradise everything exists before us. Clothes to the point of overproduction. Food, as much as our hearts desire to the point where obesity is our main health concern. Hostility towards our friends, because our eyes have been blinded by the bright heavenly light of wanting more and more, but not always being able to obtain it in such a human packed place. 
The voices keep telling us, that there is better to obtain, that we aren’t working hard enough, desiring hard enough, buying hard enough in order to obtain the obtainable. Namely, the thrones of the gods who are sitting above us, exclaiming that we should be grateful for the purpose they have presented in front of us. The purpose of becoming them and that rejection of this means wanting to burn in hell. 
The question that should be asked is this hypothetical scenario is, which of the places would I rather be? Is it paradise or hell? Paradise, where idealistic views will never be realised? Or hell, where you’re stepped upon for not ever being able to participate in this nonsensical game of so called self realisation? 
Having lived in paradise, having walked against many doors with false promises, rejection after rejection after rejection, it is no wonder that there would be some among us that would choose neither.
Thus stop moving forward. Letting everything drop and sigh dissatisfied over the flaws in the so immanent perfect paradise. 

Where is Sysiphus truly now that Camus has left him? Which gates have opened before him? Is Sysiphus even truly happy? But most important of all, what is he doing?  Sysiphus doesn’t live in a sort of hell, pushing the rock for eternity. He’s not happy. He’s in paradise, he’s unhappy with his rock besides him, sitting, doing nothing, but contemplating his suicide.