You give back what you give away.

There’s a cheerful malevolence in writing these thoughts as they appear in my head. Why should I worry about the added ambiguity, if any? Yes, I’ve always thought that the key of intelligence is effective communication, but who am I communicating with, if not my own ears? I’m wondering why, then, I need my musings out in the open. It sure might be the necessity of a witness to my progressive insanity. Something that, willingly or not, I’ve always longed for. My requirements include unconditionality, but that would be giving the internet an unrealistic permanent quality. In the meantime, it will do.

Hearing what my friends went through the previous year, it occurs to me that even if they physically lived through more, my mind has reached places theirs can’t even conceive. I wonder if they know how lonely and alone together feel. They didn’t hit rock bottom. The lesson I’m learning while struggling to get back on my feet makes me realize how I’ve grown in a twisted direction. I know more about the darkness of the human mind than they do. I’ve lived through being my own worst nightmare, which made being my only friend an impossible task. I’ve lived through the suicide of my spirit. I’ve learned that nothing is limited to a third party, and that unpurposeful emotional abuse still leaves scars on a weak heart. I’m not surprised anymore when tears mock me indicating that no, I haven’t gotten over it, and I’m far from finding the cure. It’s a lonely sentiment, since such agony was given by offensive yet seemingly tame occurences. Sharing would only cause the listener to roll their eyes, and so I’m left in silence. I still wonder, after all the egocentrism, if I’m wrong and they did learn.