Sorrowful Romanticism

There’s nothing in my mind that doesn’t seem to form as a cliché now.

I’ve discovered a lot in these months and yet all these “discoveries” seem to conclude, happily, that nothing matters any more. The whole package-deal to existential-despair-istan.

Video games used to be an excuse to while the time away and defocus from everything else. I don’t seem to derive enjoyment from playing games any more. I’ve found them to be, all-in-all, a means to an end which I have calmly turned my back towards.

I could say that the games got boring. You can only craft a crafting table or build a bedroom so many times. I could say that I’m depressed, and once exciting activities have turned into tasteless mush. Or I could say that I’ve awoken at last, and I desire deep, intricately-tangled human connections beyond a shallow veil.

These discoveries/excuses/reasons are all synonyms, all mumbled interpretations of an unintentional, formless cloud that I am watching in earnest, (or perhaps determined defiance) , as everything and everyone races past in the now.

Overthinking leads to anxiety, fear of the future, as everything is catastrophized. Overthinking leads to depression, a lamentation of the past, as one judges oneself via the bygone.

A name on a list of partygoers brings the fear of what would happen when meeting this person, due to unsavoury experiences in the past. Being present means realising a name is a name, and there wasn’t any unsavoury experience, only imagined intentions that exist nowhere but in your head.

I spent the whole week in reservist longing for my workplace. I spent the week before work started scrounging up my free time before it was lost to corporate life. I spent the week up to moving out of school trying to stay in school as much as possible. The problem is in my feet, stuck in my shoes, glued to the tarmac with inertia. Change is difficult. I left these situations with the understanding that I don’t have to adapt quickly; I have to learn how to be OK with adapting. I have to learn how to exist in the present because comparing the present to the past or projecting the future does fuck all.

I left reservist with the understanding that everyone is a fucking asshole just because everyone is bored as fuck. Today, I am trying to practice how to not take things personally. A “so?” jolts my nerves, a non-reply is a sledgehammer. You can distract yourself if overthinking is unavoidable. If it isn’t, stop overthinking, then. Hold yourself before you spiral. Tell yourself that overthinking is wrong and toxic and to notice how unsilent white noise and your current world can be.

Being present is a skill. Taking off your earphones to concentrate on the whistles and roars of the MRT is being present. Not checking your phone all the time is being present. Not romanticising sadness, is being present. I was hit with the realisation, in the shower, that happiness was a choice. A perspective shift is difficult and outright impossible at times, but doing so can ease all the distress at no material cost. Picking yourself up and changing your situation is definitely a way forward. Wallowing is not. Recover first, then get up.

I’m not confident with being present, definitely. It’s been difficult to see where I’m currently going with my hands over my eyes, or with me constantly looking back at those who have already left. I think I’m managing it, slowly. I went to a party feeling ugly and fat and useless, and left with the understanding that I used to do that 3 years ago, but stopped, and now I’m at it with feeling ugly, fat and useless again. But at least I know that I don’t have to be like that.

I have no idea how to be coherent in the above paragraphs. Too many words for two thumbs and a phone to express.

I made three separate realisations in the above rumble jumble of words.

1. Do not take things personally.
2. Live in the present.
3. Adapting itself is easy, learning to love it is hard.

I’ll be more coherent soon. Just wanted to puke this out. Change. Change. Change.