plane of euthymia

I would stand by the wooden pier while the last of the hubbub toned down and the crowd scurried away to their homes in search of warmth and rest. A biting wind and the sound of the bell echoing: familiar and comforting. I would sit on a bench close to the water and read until the light of the sunset faded. I would then enjoy the lamplighters cautiously jumping from one lamp post to another. Each flames lit up so softly like small fireflies dancing in enclosed glass. Any other way, what's a promised wife to do to kill the time?

I was going to marry Mr Hopkins. He was not short or limpy like the name suggested. His skin was rather fair, fairer than the city people, with icy white hair and an angular physique.

I suspected he never adapted to our cuisine and didn't eat properly since he was quite robust on his arrival. I still remember when I had to welcome and greet him against my will three years ago. We were obliged to accompany my father, a high ranking official, to formal gatherings. It would have been a disgrace to miss his, a very important figure in foreign affairs.

And such, it had always been like this. Times and times again, I nodded and followed, never dictated and never chose. I didn't have a voice, even if I raised it a tad, I wouldn't be heard. Eventually, I let my life be traced by others. It was easy, familiar... comforting?

I knew the life waiting for me was not a hard one, I've never had such a thing. He would provide everything I need and I would spend the rest of my days like this. Strolling by the pier, reading books, conversing, admiring. I looked at the water splash against the stone for a while before our butler, Carlton, urged us to go with a low polite tone.

My mother would always fret and never let me go alone.

I nodded.

Yet again.

Hesitancy will get you nowhere. You'll only get accustomed to losing. The guilt of not-trying-hard-enough will eat you from the inside out. As it slowly carries through a feeling of uselessness, of inadequacy. You shouldn't be afraid to take up space and be unapologetic. I learned the hard way that the world won't wait for you. You won't have time to get ready, set, go. Sit with it, it unknowingly shows you emotions and feelings you repressed. Things you are not ready for, things that scare you. It's almost like a silent call to properly voice out what you want. A silent call to jump off a cliff.

How does one regain consciousness of self?

How can one transcend physicality with personality?

How does authenticity intensify?

In a world bursting with different flavors and colors, I feel... quite blank. I fear that what I've been exposed to didn't shape me enough to form a coherent individual. Furious that I was never forced into a sport or a creative pursuit.

The environment I grew up in was very scarce. It was a very small circle which wasn't intensely passionate about anything. (or I never picked up on it and I'm looking for someone to blame.)

I only have my writing and even that is of limited expansion and use. The fluency of the two languages I speak are quite rigid.

I kind of want to find a purpose, something that drives me insane and obsessed. A passion for drawing the macabre, or reading psychological horrors, or watching Akira Kurosawa religiously. Understand references that nobody does. It feels like me, but it also feels like an effort.

It's a weird feeling and the absence of it.

I do not understand how to navigate in society. I experience a strong sense of derealization. I struggle with emotional numbness: physically incapable of crying or genuinely feeling happy or proud (the bright side is that I've gotten rid of shame). My long term memories are faded. I do not believe any of my passions are my own, only stolen. I question my purpose and desires (the only thing I know is that I want to be loved). Remnants of my identity crisis are still menacing me.

It's a train wreck.

Don't get me wrong, I know what I should do or how I should feel. I memorised what's acceptable but I am fully disconnected from it. I answer like a program, react how you expect me to. When in reality, I'm barely there.

I do want to heal, but that doesn't mean much to me either. Reading 'how to heal' a hundred times a day loses its charm. It feels like there is something inherently wrong with you everytime, everyday and you'll never be able to live in peace unless you are a perfect human being. Moderated like a replicant.

My deepest feelings, thoughts and emotions bundled up in a somehow incomprehensible way.

I wanted to share a glimpse of my life at this moment:

1. These days, I miss him terribly. It intensifies and weakens: a rollercoaster.

2. I hate colon and semicolon punctuations, I can't figure them out.

3. I have to constantly work harder than everyone else.

4. I should be more considerate.

5. I want love. Raw untamed love. Une forte complicité.

6. I need to cry but I can't.

7. I might be selfish.

8. Beach. *feral dog sounds*

9. I still need to finish A breakfast at Tiffany's (they haven't had breakfast yet).