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Posts posted by Frazen

  1. I lack true friends. I'm talking about friends with whom you can talk about philosophical issues, people who try to understand you and feel you. People who have the guts to tolerate strong emotions and don't escape when you tell them of the pain that is eating you away.


    My partner and I have moved to a new place, and I'm finding it really hard to integrate with the society here. Fortunately, my partner, who is a kind and caring person, is with me and I'm not completely alone, but he's not enough. I have some so-called "friends" here who I see once in a while and we go out together and talk about movies and stuff. But our talks aren't as deep as what I want.


    It might sound like a silly issue to you, but I'm a very sensitive person. I have antlers with which I detect people's emotions, and my agility in sympathizing has helped me a lot in my life; it's a type of emotional intelligence, but it has its own downsides: I have an insatiable desire for people's emotions. I love to see them cry or laugh uncontrollably, I love it when they share their problems with me, I suck in their thoughts, their feelings, and their memories and it gives me so much meaning in life. [They also give me some material for my creative writing, but that's beside the point].


    In this new place, every one feels alien to me. They are too cold and emotionally immature. They normally suppress their feelings to an extent that they seem like robots. They do show simple emotions like laughing and crying, but to a minimal and controlled degree. A few months ago I managed to connect with a group of web writers whose emotions and problems were good enough for giving me meaning but they were not living in the same society. I lost my contact with them after some time as I thought this is not what I was seeking, but presently I feel like I just can't make sense of the society here. It's overly materialistic and robotic. People are reduced to insensitive cotton puppets. I'm deeply hoping that I can find a friend here who can feel what I say, instead of rationally challenging it, but I don't know how to find that prospective friend. I guess since most deep talks take place online, there's no chance that these people would open up when we physically meet. I'm even okay with online friendships, as long as they would be living in the same society and would be serious in friendship.


    Any way, what do you recommend me to do?

  2. Well, I used to live apart from my partner for 3 freaking years, because he was on a scholarship from another country and could only come and visit once per year. The cost of the ticket was too much as well, so there was no way I could visit him either. But during those years, even though there was no physical contact, we had a burning love that was even stronger than the present, when we actually live together. We used to chat a lot; written communication is some times much better than verbal. We watched movies at nights and told each other our reactions to the scenes by chatting. It felt as if he was with me. So I guess trying to be in touch with her, sending her romantic messages and stuff at work would pull you closer to her.


    I also would recommend trying to talk to her about your concerns at work and asking her to share her stories as well. In my opinion, not knowing what your partner does or feels in the 5 days that you don't see them every week makes a lot of distance. It might gradually lead to a state of indifference. So better to think ahead.

  3. I have exactly the same problem with my partner. I've been listening to him bellyache at least one hour every day and often he concludes the conversation by saying "you don't understand, you're so detached, you don't even try to help", blaming it all on me, which drives me nuts. I've told him many times to stop nagging so much, because it give us both negative energy. I've also told him that I'm not selfish and I would be totally fine with a little bit of bellyaching if it would make him feel a short-term relief, but certainly this much of it is destructive.


    I believe putting a lot of effort for your partner or friends is good, as it's a sign that you care about them. But every thing should be balanced. An endless loop of rumination would tire both of you.

  4. It used to have a similar function for me. The wounds made me forget my mental pain. I used to glorify it, as making the wounds actually felt sublime. The power to do it with my body, to have complete control over my pain made me feel like I'm thick-skinned and strong. But later, I started thinking that it was an indicator of my weakness and need, and I quit doing this after I started hating my state of self-pity. Since then, I try to take the aggression out instead of pointing it towards my own body.

  5. On meaning:

    When I was 14 I was a wild wolf. I used to run on vast fields of snow, feeling the crisp breeze washing away my grief and lightening my heart. I was roiling with emotions. I had fallen in love, which some times made me scream silently in solitude as I self-harmed, and some times made me laugh with utter ecstasy. I would lie on my back and put together dreams like jigsaw puzzle pieces, imagining how I would continue writing, because I thought that was the thing that would give my life meaning at any time. The gears of my mind worked effortlessly and spouted out ideas. I felt like I was able to do what ever I wanted and had such a tremendous faith in my mission in life.


    But my uncle passed away last month and even though my passion for life had started to slowly fade away since a year ago, that made the deadliest blow. Upon hearing the news of his death, I too wished that I was dead. Death doesn't feel like anything, right? You just disappear, as if you never existed. One moment you are, and the next moment you are not.


    You might want to tell me "Even if souls don't exist, the influence of people lives on in this world", to which I would say "so what?". I used to think you can immortalize yourself through being remembered by others, but now I find even that meaningless.


    I've lost my appetite for the crusty greasy layers of future. It is now as meaningless as a half-eaten and putrid piece of a KFC drumstick on the rims of a rubbish bin. It’s not quite “in” the bin, but rather on a pile of rubbish, hurting my eyes and making me sick at the sight of such a shameful presentation of my life. I want to see it being swallowed by fire. At least there is some glory in the molten-red flames lustily licking at it, as there is some glory in nothingness. Death is a god who will sooner or later devour us. The end is the same, so tell me what difference does it make if I die now or tomorrow or if my name stays in people’s minds?


    As many others had written in their journals, when you get too sad, pleasure crumbles to dust. Every thing tastes bland, meaningless, and ordinary. I used to believe that I wanna die a prolific writer, because that and only that would make me feel like my life had some meaning. I'm 22 now. If I now had the motivation I had when I was 17, I would have risen high. But I seem to have lost it, because even the thought of people reading my stuff doesn't relieve me; because even suppose they read it, who guarantees that they would understand it? Do they ever feel it?


    It's scary to be read by people who give you a poker face when you tell them of moments you keened of pain and the moments when all happiness was mercilessly sucked out of your life. They shake their heads and walk away keeping their faces annoyingly calm , while the demon in me tears everything apart and screams. Were I to be a published writer, even thinking that I might get such response, would make me shiver and huddle in my cavern of solitude.

    I long for those delicious moments when I could feel connected to others through my writing. Even the glow of recognition in their eyes would be enough to make me scramble to my feet and fight again. Not recognizing me, but recognizing their own feelings in my words... I've been yearning for that for so long.

  6. I stare blankly at my laptop. I sip my insipid tea. I sigh, thinking of those glorious days when I was 14 and I had so much to live for.

    Things have changed so much since then.


    As an aspiring writer, I've never had any shortage of existential crisis, but this time it hurts, mainly because it is no feeling at all. Because it's not sorrow, anger, or despair. It's an absolute nothingness as empty and abysmal as the outer space. Life has no meaning any more.

  7. I just find it amazing that you've kept this journal for so long. Glad that you're going to let your girlfriend know about your feelings. It's often better to tell them...


    Also I really like how you express yourself in words. They flow really well with a logic that is unlike the mathematical formulaic logic. It's more like an emotional logic that governs your writing.


    Take care of your old lizard!

  8. Hey ExoticDance. I'm new to this forum and I'm not sure if it's alright to post in your journal, but just wanted to let you know that I read it. It resonated with me and was a beautiful geyser of feelings. Recently I feel as if I'm cut off from every one's emotions. I really want to feel them but they show me only poker faces or shallow feelings, which seriously is not enough to feed my need for feeling others. I have antlers, I walk on the streets longing for seeing pure and strong emotions. But they show me nothing. That's why I registered and found your journal. I really liked your post about being "high as a kite" and feeling maddeningly good... reminded me of some old feelings that I really cherish. Wishing you the best.

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