I've been looking through some old stuff again. And discovered this dated entry:
sometimes it feels as though i am nothing but an amorphous mass which transforms itself with every shape as though i am disguised as the world, and the world is me.
as if i am of no substance. as if i am dead to everything.
i tried to look back to who i used to be. i tried to know who i tried to be. there were no answers everywhere i looked.
i tried to be everything for the world yet nothing for myself. i tried too hard and when i failed, i lost disgracefully.
i was secretly breeding anger and hate and rage. and one day when i looked again, i discovered an emptiness within which even the rage and hate cannot fill. and as more time went by, it ate away all my dreams and hopes and happiness and i found myself no longer able to sustain the will to survive and so i died.
inside. dead. burned to ashes.
Nine years ago now, and I still remember the intensity of those emotions. Nine years on, and I still feel like an amorphous mass, adapting where I can, playing chameleon.
Nine years on, am I still breeding anger and hate and rage? No, I don't think so. So much of the passion has gone out of me. So much of the energy, gone.
But the emptiness, that's still there, and yes, with more time it continues to eat away at my dreams and hopes and happiness. I don't know if I am able to sustain this life any further.
Nine years from now, who would I be?