A Trapped Existence

I remember the feeling of being trapped from so early one. The blue sky so rigidly imposed over my head like the ceiling of an inescapable prison. Gravity holding me to the ground like chains. I remember sitting in class at school, my mind drifting off as the teacher would move her lip and gesture with her hands and point at the board, but my ears heard nothing. I thought of how brave it would be to stand up, stare the teacher in the eyes- like a gazelle confronting a lion- and walk out of the classroom. I would leave. I would run away. I don’t know where I would go to, but I would be free.

I still feel the chains so heavy. They grasp around my wrists and throat, compelling me to stay in one place, to never leave. Sometimes I feel like a machine, like the tire of a car or the bullet to a gun. I serve no inherent purpose, but to serve the whole. I am useless alone- I have been taught that all my life. A tire without a car is hardly worth a swing. A bullet without a gun has a hard time killing anyone. I am just a functioning piece of society. Sometimes, more than anything, I want to show the world what dysfunction looks like.

My heart pains now, more than usual. I don't know how chemical this feeling is, but every now and then I feel my heart moan like trees creaking under a cold forceful breeze. I don't want to feel the way I do, but I also am not ready to let this feeling go. This hurt, this pain, this discontent brewing inside me must be leading somewhere. My soul is screaming that something about my present existence isn't right. That something needs to change. I believe I would be a fool not to listen to the suffering of my own soul.

There are time when I look out at the world around me and expect to see familiar faces. I expect to see minds alive with the same discontent, the same frenzy of understanding that something is just, well, off. More times than not, I only see empty faces. Faces that glow alive at the idea of living within the boundaries of precedented society. Of living what they presume to be a happy life and dying what they presume to be a happy death. Ignoring the entire time the profound suffering that exists in the world, the pain, the suffering, the hurt. Of course, I am no better than any of them. Of course I have done nothing myself to remediate these problems. And of course, not everyone chooses to hide in the blinding rays of the sun. I have met a few people who choose to live in the shadows, to see the dishonorable grey reality we live in. I have also met many, who like myself, are completely unable to live anywhere but the shadows.

I don't see a purpose to living. I don't see a purpose to dying. I don't see a purpose to existing. I see no inherent wrong with life. I see no inherent right. All I see is an overbearing presence of grey bearing down on me. I suppose, as many other people have rationalized, life is what you make it. If there is no inherent reason to exist, then the freedom to make life as spectacular or awful is all within my hands. I guess I never really bought that, and never really intended too for that matter. I don't believe any one person will ever be able to make anything of life, it is much too complicated. Trying to find purpose in life is like trying to see through fire. Only when the flames extinguish for good can you really see what's in front of you.

I don't know why I am writing this, and I don't know if it needs to be heard. I just suppose life is such a vague confluence of emotions and experiences that sometimes dwelling on it makes some sense of the insanity.