Yes, to all of that. Really... And yeah, things happen, and there literally feels like a (before x) and (after x) reality. At least that's how it is for me. And not necessarily some sole event as much as a series of events, and a changing of mind that came with it. Shit changes you. Life changes you. I don't understand either, much of anything, and I don't have answers, for my own predicaments or anyone else's. I've always been very emotional and very sensitive too, but I've learned...how not to be. And when not to be. Or not so much that, it's that I've learned how to keep it to myself, in life, in general. And equally, how to be thankful for the times when I don't have to...
That's why I relate to those who communicate through music, or art, or poetic words, or anything beyond cold logic. I'm very logical all at the same time, but it's become a coping mechanism as much as it's a practical thing. It keeps me level and functioning like I should. Numb enough, I suppose. The same as weed, something not a pill. I recognize those who I can truly connect with, appreciate the rarity of it, and I recognize all the same those who I cannot. And it's not like there's some special gift that some have and some don't. It seems to me to just be simple awareness, a step back, rather than a step ahead of anyone or anything, that opens you to experiencing a world that's not so simple... but very much real, and as much of anything as you want it to be.
This life has left me incredibly lonely, even when it hasn't left me alone, and if I'd not stopped myself caring when I have about some things, I think they would've torn me apart a lot more than they have, which has still been enough to alter my life irrevocably and leave indelible marks on my mind and heart, in the most frustratingly painful, and beautifully benign, and stupidly comical, and minutest of ways. But regardless of how, still to the point that I'll never be able to ignore it. And the punchline of that joke is - you can't make yourself quit caring. It might feel like you can, and it might feel like you have, but then it comes around to punch you in the gut again seemingly out of nowhere, always, eventually - somehow. Some things you learn to live with because you have to.
It's a permanent condition.
When I'm outside at night, I'll look up at the sky and it will really strike me what I'm staring up at and how vast and unknowable that is. And then some day later, I'll forget to even notice the sun is shining enough to go outside, or that anything's up there at all. And that's how I know us humans end up in all the self-made messes that we do. We don't even pay attention. I'm in the frame of mind to notice everything I possibly can, and I still forget, to do it, and even more how to fully process what I'm looking at when I'm do. In some way, I think it's impossible. It is impossible to completely make sense of. Maybe that's why so many people accept the simple answers handed to them, or would rather avoid thinking about it altogether.
I think when you're young, and especially if you're predisposed to it, there's this really beautiful part inside that just wants to run and create and feel...and when you make a connection in that way that sparks, and it either dies, or you fuck it up, or it disconnects, self-destructs, burns out or fades away somehow - you'll spend your whole life wishing for it again, searching if you haven't given up on the hope, or just broken somehow from the loss.
And the thing is, it's not always necessarily a place, or a person, or some simple 'thing' that you can point to and name...or maybe even anything outside yourself. It's a reality, that only you can describe or even feel, or maybe even you knew existed. The only thing to know is that it's something gone...or maybe a lost point, or thing never even reached or found. But still gone. Absence is such a thing to know. It's like a relationship of it's own kind. And I have a very strong suspicion it can last a lifetime.
And so a person kills themselves, and people say "why?" "why did they do it?". But does anyone ever stop to think, maybe that person had such a mind and heart full of inexpressible things that the only thing they could imagine to help would be a release from it? What's the point in trying to communicate anymore when you feel like you can't? What do you do when there's no words, or if there are - they don't work, and there's no fix, or there's no going back? That's the reality beyond the one we acknowledge. It's complex, and when we're disconnected or damaged somehow, it leaves a hole. So we fill it with music, or art, or writing, or anything to fill the void. That's why people need more shit. And that's why people kill themselves too. Because filling it with shit doesn't work. We're all running to or from something even if we don't slow down enough to know what that is. Life necessitates that we move. Even when we're sitting still we move. (I learned that the hard way.)
But we crave connection, and meaning, and when we're living too fast and shallow to create that, then we fill the emptiness with whatever we can acquire instead. (And I don't say that from on high, I say it from experience.) I feel like I'm in constant vertigo standing on an earth that spins way too fast for me to understand. But I'm curious as hell, and hopeful and nihilistic too, in this really weirdly sarcastically defiant way - and I guess it's worked out to be enough to keep me here. So I'm 'happy' with that, and definitely, for lack of a better word, LOL. But that's what weed, and pondering, and things written way too long are for... so this should suffice to be completely inadequate as much as it makes me laugh.
Final thoughts, "I don't know"... except that it doesn't go away and we find ways to cope with it and I'm happy to recognize a kindred spirit whenever I do.
Music isn't enough, words aren't enough, how could anything ever be enough? Life, existence, the sense of loss and longing and disconnect, It's too vast and unknown to define, much less to fill. The art is in the trying, the fun is in the trying, as is the pain. So we try. What else would we have been put here to do? Surely, anything else would be a lesser aim.
Thank mother nature for everything. And curse her for birthing us. Then ask her more questions. And with tears, or rage, or a smile, sing her a song. <3