#existential fatigue

I’ve always believed there had to be a gentler place.

Where people didn’t laugh at kindness. Where love didn’t need proof. Where no one got hurt for being soft or different or slow to speak.

A place for the quiet ones. The gardeners. The listeners. The ones who say take what you need and mean it.

I thought maybe I’d find it in a small town, or a city art scene, or a village in the hills.

But everywhere I go, there is cruelty.

That’s when I feel the most lost. Not because I’m alone, but because I keep hoping this world has a corner that doesn’t exist.

I know I’m not the only one. But we are scattered. And tired. And outnumbered.

If you’re reading this, maybe you're part of it.

— Phoenix Moon

[con't: Colleagues and ppl are one of the few highlights, but I'm still full of dread at the thought of the long commute, the endless tasks/meetings, having little time to myself, etc. I try to arrange things to look forward to which does help, but I always have some level of anticipatory anxiety. Do you have advice?]

i really wonder if anybody feels this much of thought in their daily lives. i know you do. if not, you wouldn’t be here.

it is the regulation of these thoughts that human mind and body can do in order to help the soul. but if your body is eating you alive, how can you regulate? you are on the survival.

even i can say: justifying the solitude by the mask of survival. it is actually trying to survive in this system of mine, or this earth.

but it feels heavy to breathe. most of the time i feel like i do not breathe the oxygen.

i forgot it as i skip my meals. not intentionally. just forgetting. not feeling that i’m hungry. or even if i feel, i don’t do anything. just too much.

but i would cook for you. i would like to feed my beloved ones and share with them. even cook with them.

but i don’t follow this ritual that much, just with myself. with breathing. or anyone else.

that has been some time for that as well. each time i remember this, my body aches. i mean it always aches.

while sitting. while laying down on my bed. while walking. it feels like a corpse bride walking.

but me. me with my own issues. as we all have those issues. i believe.

why is it hard to hold someone to love?

i kept remembering this memory of mine these last couple of days. one time i broke down so hard. 26 years old. rejected a visa to study.

i went to my mom. i asked her to hold me while i was shattering in pieces, crying my whole existence out. she held me. a minute or two. maybe three. god knows. not that long.

then she told me she needed to clean. the whatever-there-is around the home i have been living in for 4 years, 5 months. long, huh? still doesn’t feel like home.

maybe for the last 2 weeks, i lost count, i have been feeling very depressed and fatigued. the smallest tasks feel very hard to accomplish. some days i never got out of bed.

i am writing these lines with freshly polished nails. a useless info dump, i know.

my body felt like carrying weight. back, neck, legs. some arm cramps too.

alive in the sense of being alive, but my body was eating me alive. inside and out.

i have to break this cycle. i need to. i want to.

and yes, i was severely fatigued. but i still cleaned my whole goddamn kitchen. i cooked some stuff even.

these small dishes, using the kitchen more regularly, made me feel a bit happier. maybe even filled with natural dopamine. if u see this sayhifromanywheresoul.u. .born in the late 20th century. living, and definitely dying in the 21st. can i live that long?

can the internet make me live until the 22nd century? and can i be reborn then?

They taught us to whisper in slogans and script, Tongues trained in verses, shackled and whipped. Our laughter is canned, our silence curated, Each thought pre-approved, instincts numb and sedated. The dreams that we wear were stitched in their mills, Branded and sleek, with synthetic thrills. The lessons we learn are rehearsed in their school— We hunger for truth, but choke down their gruel. Yet…