I found it much easier to slip into dissociation before than I do now. Nothing is fulfilling. Not even the faux reality I trap my mind within. I used to not feel worried by loneliness or time. Faith is gone. Hope is lost. The only thing I leave my mind with is “when”. When will things change. When will things get better. Sometimes, when will I fall out of both this reality, and my own. Tethered to this world as slave as I am, as we all are, it is endless with no escape save for your soul.
I am stuck. I may pick up a book and read, but I do not. I may learn something new, I may challenge myself, I may be productive to further my mind and my goals; I do not. I stare at my screen. I stare at my wall. I sleep. This seems to be common. So why, if common, do I still feel this way? Shall I feel comfort knowing I am not alone? People the same as me, in arms reach, but we do not have anything to say. Is this because we have dulled ourselves down that we are stuck in our own mind, we cannot speak, we cannot express, not without wrecking our perspectives? It seems others are disingenuous. Scratching at others to scratch ourselves. Claws dug in our back. We do not speak.
Where is my originality? A clone, another, another copy. Re-created many times, there are many out there, why will they not speak to me? I am envious of the word individual. If I say too much, there will be nothing left. I can salvage, I can fill it with more, but what is the point then? Marked. There are only three primaries that fit in the hive, I will not speak of them, but you may already know. There is arguably four. What else, to live for, than these? We all try to find a way out, to cope, but it is with no effect.
The philosophical debate of life is and will be endless, so if endless, and if so many, why then can you not say it is to divert you from realization. One can say they do not know truth or lie, but in your heart and mind, truth of life exists, and we all hide it.
My vision of the end, the revelation, may I simply say this is propheteia in my possession? Or shall judgement easily pass onto me as it has to my copies. I am a copy. The only interest now within this eschatology shall be my own position. We will all end up here or there, but while living the tribulation, slaves the same, it is often wondered to me why my eyes must bare this grisly sight.