I don’t know why I’ve been feeling so off these last few weeks, but I have. Maybe it was my body fighting off my sickness, or maybe it’s something else. I just don’t know. With being ill I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t watch Netflix, or walk around, or eat food, or do much of anything besides just lay still. Instead I spent my time engrossed in spoken horror stories, and finished the novel 1Q84 by Haruki Murukami.
I’ve always loved stories. From a young age you could find me surrounded on all sides by picture books that I couldn’t yet read. As I grew older I consumed books like they were the only thing keeping me alive. I wanted more difficult books with things I had to solve and decipher. I found mystery books and horror novels and fantasy. There was something comforting and depressing about loving books. I had found these characters and worlds that spoke to me on a psychological level but no one knew it. It was like I wanted to call out to anyone who would listen and fill them with the same feeling the authors words had given me, but I couldn’t.
Sometimes friends would read the same books as me and it was like I was finally able to connect with people again. They would open my mind to details I missed or questions that were left unanswered. We were taking these words and building something more, something unprecedented and beyond the scope of what the author may have even intended.
I’ve never been a fan of the world around me. I always craved the life and adventure that years of novels had foretold, but that never happened. My life isn’t a dramatic tale to unfold before my readers eyes. My life is simply average. I’ve never been in love and had my heart broken, or been in a terrible disfiguring accident, or discovered a murdered corpse. Instead I’ve woken up every morning for 23 years and gone through the motions. Some days are far easier than others, but most I’ve simply forgotten in the recesses of my mind.
There’s always a part of me that wants some sort of insane life that is worthy of the novels that line my shelves. Then I remember that these authors had ordinary lives too. Their worlds were an escape from the mundane reality that consumed them. In their minds monsters and magic were just as real as taxes and famine. They gifted the masses with their words that have become ingrained into someones heart. Maybe it wasn’t a bestseller, but it mattered to someone. At least that’s why I like to tell myself. It saddens me to think that someone put their heart and soul into crafting something and it sits, forgotten on a shelf growing fragile with age. Disappearing into nothingness.
Aren’t we all afraid of disappearing into nothingness? That our words and lives and bodies will decay into the passage of time like so many before us. Who lived in this house before you or walked this path, and why didn’t they matter, or did they matter and we simply drowned them out with the noise of the present. Part of me hopes this is all some sort of parallel reality that if I climb the right ladder will fade away and a different reality will take its place.
The world seems bleak and so does my future. Books have become the only thing I enjoy anymore. So I guess what I’m trying to say is, read books and listen to stories. Be absorbed in something other than your phones and timelines. Read about someones tragic life, or a mythical beast, or a stalker ex-girlfriend.
I’ve become sick of the comments swirling around in the cybersphere which has become a means of living. They criticize and chastise complete strangers because they have nothing else going on in their lives. We’ve all become beings floating in a world of meaningless comments unable to grab hold to substance. Step away from the screens and just read a fucking book. Separate yourself from your cyber-self and appreciate the serenity of your mind.
Every single one of us will fade into the abyss of forgetfulness that is the human existence. The best thing is to be healthier in our routines. Give our minds time away from bullying and cyberspace. Perhaps I’m not as lost as I feel and I’m finally aware and coherent. I rose above the surface of the water that was drowning me and took a breath of logic. I’m trying to find a stone to stand on instead of letting the water go above my head again. I no longer wish to settle for the mundane, I need to make a change and just bloody well do something.
Maybe this piece spoke to some of you, or for others it is simply nonsensical garbage. But maybe it made you think, it made you stop looking at Facebook and be a part of my words and my story, and that makes me smile. My head is so cloudy lately, it’s just hard to be coherent. Thank you for reading my ramblings, I appreciate it.