Eating, the truth of awakening
The person I spend the most time with, and whom I should have the best relationship is myself. Yet, every example of reality is a contradiction to the above stated, a sort of proof that my actions reflect the intention to escape my own consciousness. So, I think I can define this as a search for answers, or pure understanding of myself and what led me to be like this, what is actually going on, how it hurts me, are there alternatives, and, most importantly, am I alone?
I am lying in bed, without energy, after a day when I skipped work and I had time to sleep in. I should feel strong, eager, enthusiastic to face a stimulating day, with challenges, perhaps with the hope of burning those extra hours of sleep in experiences that lead to results that make one happy. However, the reality is the opposite, I find myself immersed in a day where my actions can be summarized into lying in bed, weightless, in an emotional depression, whose cause I try to draw upon, unsuccessfully.
I find myself exploring my Instagram feed, looking at memes without meaning, without real importance, without real impact in the short or long term future of my life. I recur to my memories, trying to remember if there was a time when I looked at memes and laughed, if any genuine feeling of happiness surfaced from them, but I don’t find any such memories. I begin to reflect and feel, not only to feel but also to know that I am only scrolling to fill a void in my day, fill the lack of activity with something that is also defined by absolute lack of stimulation.
What prompted me to write this in this reflection moment was a specific meme, where Brad Pitt appears thinking, somewhat depressed, and says: “When the Last time I ate something was 46 minutes ago “; In case you did not make the connection, the alleged humour arises from the connection between Brad Pitt’s depressive mood and the “long time” he had not eaten. Without a doubt, the meme made me feel, but why? Because I fully identify with it.
There is a dichotomy in my being between my actions and my will. What I would like to be and what I am. What I preach and my daily actions to reach that goal. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to scold myself; after all, I am all about action. More often than not, when I set out a goal and I reach it I feel proud of that, and for the life I have, considering the obstacles that came my way. Regardless, my being also has a part that is defined by the lack of activity, purpose and stimulus, which does not make me happy but I am addicted to. The lack of short-term daily missions which lead up to that long-term project I have for myself, which is basically about “becoming someone” and understanding the reason behind my presence in this world. In other words, believing that individual life is not defined by the crushing indifference of life itself towards one. Being able to believe that it is worth living without attaching myself to metaphysical beliefs that seek answers to my questions in a transcendent leap of faith.
Circling back, the awareness that in seconds had, become a concern that I can not disconnect from my head. I can not appease it but it only generates a desire for action, change, and generation of change in others. I do not know how to proceed or what paths to take, I do not know what form this will take and I believe that this is also what sprouts this rhetorical conversation that I am having with myself through these words.
What is the reason for this constant search for external stimulus?
I am going to explain how I feel, firstly I feel that I am diverting, that I am losing myself in a certain sense, that I am in an involutive process where I let time pass along, where I do not invest this time in giving body and form to that pronoun as famous as is “me”. I reflect, who is the only person I am with 24 hours a day, every day of every year until my life is over? Myself. But still, I ask again, am I really in touch with me? No. I’m constantly filling a void, filling moments with an inflated untied balloon, which when placed in the sequence of actions that define my life it deflates and leaves my actions empty as before, only that now this balloon has already been inflated, and the same air cannot be used twice; it has already been defined as void, losing the possibility of being an action or experience. What I’m trying to say is that there are two voids, the beautiful void of the future that is represented as action potential, and the sickening void, as I see it, of the past that already existed, which is already part of the writings of my life, which make up a book of thousands of pages, but a blank one.
I think that observing that meme connected me with a feeling inside of me which was covered in dust; it was almost a trigger. I think that it indirectly defined that depression that I felt but could not understand the reason it owed itself to. I think now I understand what the reason is. I am depressed by lack of life, experience and learning. I want to believe that it is in fact much much more, I cling to the longing that this understanding will come and that at that moment the understanding of existential questions will click. Because these questions are the greatest concern in each person who has a minimum level of internal reflection on life, which lead to create the greatest unknowns. Faced with the depression of lack of motive, I hide in the hole of emptiness, in the lack of action and intrinsic stimulus, leaning on the support of entertainment, awarding it a space that does not correspond. An absolute space. The space of reality. I understand that this sequence of actions I am letting it pass, and it that choice defined by lack of action, I write my life as a blank book. I want to understand and I want to discover if it is me or if there is such a thing as what I will call it, “the disease of silence”.