Crest

6 months since the last post. I am tempted to sing out the opening line to Simon & Garfunkel's Sound of Silence.

"Hello, darkness my old friend."

Probably I shouldn't.

What has changed 6 months after since I last posted? Inevitably, 6 months means I am less then a year to ORDing. Joy. Now after the customary NS content been done, let's move to the other news.

Surprisingly, I find the need to censor myself bleeding away, growing weaker and weaker. Not that I can allow myself to write posts with bad english albeit having lingering bad grammar.

It's that the change I wrote about is happening still, and it's happening faster and faster. Being strangely aware of what's happening yet not able to understand the change. The only thing I know that is the change is not enough to put me in the direction and the pace I would like. Indoubtably, I would need money to effect it, or at the very least make it faster. The evidence is screaming in my face that what I have done is still too little, not good enough.

What used to be conceit, now is emptying out into rage. Rage into what I have done to myself, how I destroyed much of what I could have achieved or achieve with my stupidity and carelessness. Yet it already happened, to let it poison my future and what I could still salvage would be continuing condemning to myself to mediocrity.

Perhaps now I can place the words to my lips, declare that I am not going to take any solace from those who are inferior. Perfection is something I am not going to ever achieve, but as close to the light. As close to it.
I have already made one good concrete step, but I must forge myself without any regard. Forward, if it means losing everything in the process.

Like any crescendo, the peak of emotions will only vanish to a sinking realisation. It's so distinct that, I don't know where, what to grapple with my direction. Only aware of the thought to improve, knowing how to do it. Yet what about everyone around me, what to do with myself and them? And it's so frightening that this is all an aspect known to me. Only me, is this schizoprenia manisfesting? That I am letting people see nothing of this yet I want them to? Yet I am not good enough, perfect enough for them. Thus it's the mockery and the rage against the self. It's the inferiority that's left of my existence.