How much of the day are you aware — just basically aware of what life is presenting — rather than being lost in waking sleep, in being identified with whatever you’re doing, almost as if you didn’t exist? To what extent do you blindly drift from one form of comfort to another, from one daydream or fantasy to another, from one secure place to another, in order to avoid the anxious quiver of discomfort or insecurity? How much of your energy is used to fortify a particular self-image, or to simply please others in order to gain approval, instead of devoting your energy to living a genuine life?
— Ezra Bayda
My heart is a thousand years old
I am not like
When the sun begins to rise and the universe is silent, yet I remain awake staring at my computer screen while the rest of the world sleeps, this always seems to be the time that I feel most frightened and alone. Despite being somewhat aware of how illogical my thought processes become at these hours, I can’t help but dwell on the fact that I feel as if I am the only person on Earth who is conscious. It makes me feel uneasy and vulnerable, and I become anxious as an intense need to wake someone up builds within me, just for some kind of validation that everything is normal, that people outside of these walls are still breathing, and life continues in countries the other side of the globe. I watch my significant other sleep as panic and sadness swells within me, and the fact that it would be cruel to wake him at such an unholy hour only adds to my anxiety: comfort staring me right in the face, yet completely untouchable due to guilt.
So I sit, and I watch the sun rise through glances out my window in between refreshing pages on my computer obsessively, just to see signs of life through a blaring white screen, hoping desperately for a car to drive past or an alarm to go off. I feel like a prisoner, yet there is no reason, and there are no walls.