Play The Game.

Mind games are not merely games played on your mind through external forces, but they are games that your mind plays on itself.

One simple picture, that burns an image that lasts a mere 5 seconds can induce a stream of thought that will go on for a disproportionately longer period, say, of 5 days. How this one image can propound itself and turn into a series of images, a television mini series, perhaps a series that even goes on hiatus and returns 25 years later, is beyond me. Yet, this happens, and will continue to happen until you bring your brain onto your side, where cookies and hot chocolate are all the things you think about.

Now if a simple image can escalate into a monolithic figure eating all the other thoughts out of the recesses of your brain, imagine the effect of a short question, two words and one mark of punctuation.

BAM.

You have another 20 days added to your game. What do those words mean? Was that question directed to me? Was it directed to another girl? Why did he use that word and not a different one? Is there a covert message behind a covert question? And it goes on, and on.

Althusser speaks of the moment of recognition, when the individual recognizes that he has been interpolated into the ruling ideology, and despite that the individual remains situation in his position.  The situation is, according to Althusser, larger than the individual himself. In this cause, one may realize they are involved in games of the mind, whether imposed or from within, and the mind games are the larger situation. Regardless of the act of realization the individual cannot escape the fact that these games are taking place.

So the only thing left to do…play the damn game.

Play the game so well that you create games that trump the initial game and knock it out of the playing field. In fact, you have been playing bigger games without realizing it, you have initiated it and your foreplay, your unintentional warm up has pushed the ball into play. Once you realize the whistle has blown, the ball is in your court and you seize it. You do not wallow in despair, wishing you could push the games out of your mind, rather you play that game and you win. Win the game. Because winning the game is the only way you can realize the game and stop it from consuming your life.

Play the game.

The ATM, Red Shirt Guy & Romance.

There is something romantic about having a ten minute connection with someone you will never meet again. And I think that it is that romance that made me feel so happy inside, that Saturday evening. I was waiting in line at the only functioning ATM at the market. There were five people in front of me, the woman from the tattoo parlour, a guy, another guy, second guy is the focus of this string of words, and two girls carrying Forever 21 bags.

So I noticed Guy 2, also known as Red Shirt guy, and I glanced at him. I was tweeting, minding my own business. And one by one people left, and the Red Shirt guy was standing on the side. So as I got closed to the ATM, only Red Shirt guy stood between me and my cash but I didn’t know if he was waiting in life or not. So I asked him, “hey, are you waiting in line?” And he replied, with a strangely accented voice, something close to a pseudo-American accent, “Yeah, I have been waiting for quite a while actually. Developing my patience.” I giggled and murmured something incoherently. Busying myself with Twitter again, I was surprised when he introduced himself and started talking to me about my very ‘punny’ sweatshirt, Leave Lit To The Prose. I started explaining the technical definition of prose and was all smiles. He asked me what I do and flatly replied with a, “I study literature, third year.” I proceeded to ask him about his life and he colorfully explained his online marketing business with the best example he could have used with me, socks.

“I LOVE socks! People think I’m weird cause they’re like, why do you like socks so much and I’m like why do you not like socks so much?”

There it was, my explosion of feels for socks. And I think he was taken aback, unfortunately it was his turn and he did offer to let me go first, but I told him I would push him to the machine. He went, withdrew his money, hair flip and walked out, smiling and saying “Nice to meet you Sanya.” I replied with an enthusiastic, “Nice to meet you too!”

That was it.

I walked out of the ATM cubicle, my mother called, we squabbled about my new tattoo, and out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of the Red Shirt guy. For a spilt second I thought of going up to him and asking for his number, but another voice in my head said no. It said, “No, don’t do that, just let it be, give yourself the fodder for imagining how amazing and fantastic this stranger may be. Why do you want to ruin what you experienced in the past ten minutes?” So I didn’t, I joined my friends in Pizza Hut, hurriedly told them what happened and sat in a daze. Something about the conversation just struck a chord, in retrospect he wasn’t that impressive, in fact I saw him when I was leaving the market and he seemed a tad bit creepy. For some reason, that conversation, waiting for the ATM gave me something. It gave me a strange warm, fluffy sensation in my brain.

I will never see him, I won’t know his name, I won’t know what kind of socks he wears. And that is all okay.

The ATM guy, the Red Shirt guy, thank you so much for that wonderful conversation, whoever you are, wherever you are, I hope I never see you again because what I have will only be this amazing if I don’t.

Untitled.

The chasm

The empty

The vacuous

The void

The void

That grows incessantly

The space

That breaks bounds

The gut wrenching

Sensation that travels up

Up towards your throat

And slips off your tongue.

Tears welling

Hands perspiring

The unthinkable task

Two words

To forever

Negate the three.

It’s over.

Leftovers packed up

Tightly, preventing spillage

No leaks

Sealed off.

Waiting in a cool place

Waiting to be devoured

Decaying

Growing mould

White

Green

Black.

A hollowed stomach

Nothing that will satisfy

The hunger.

Escape.

One mean offence after another.

You destroy the sacred.

Left with naught.

You whither away, through the night.

Awaken with a cold, numb pain in your bones.

Move with a heaviness in your soul.

Breathe in the grimy air that was once pure.

Your veins pump a poison.

A mind swollen with remorse.

Emptiness pervades your body.

Sinking into a void.

You cannot escape yourself.

Monsters.

All of this may sound cliched. Because everyone writes and talks about their mental illnesses, it isn't a big secret for the world when another young human comes forward to say "Something is wrong with me." They just send them to the doctors, the ones who don't say anything take to substance or self harm. It's something we see so often. Something that has become normal. Some romanticize it, while others mock it, but it is known, it may still be a taboo to some degree, but it is known.
Each of us have our own monsters.
I want to talk about mine.

Mine consumes me. Sometimes I can make it go away, for a few weeks at a time. But it always comes back, at the worst times. And it isn't pretty. It scares me. I'm always afraid it'll show up and then I won't know what to do.

I feel like pulling my hair out, I want to scratch my skin off, I just don't want to be near myself when the monster comes to town.

I cry. I sob. I yell.

I hurt people. I hurt a lot of people. I make bad decisions. I know I am making bad decisions and yet I don't stop myself, and then I feel guilt. So much guilt. A sea of guilt that I just want to drown myself in. Drown myself. I can't even drown myself because I've been a swimmer since I was five years old. I wanted to drown myself since I was eleven.

I've gone for therapy, I've taken pills, I've gone to a healer.
I've made friends. I've had a lot of sex.
I've gotten shitfaced. I've gotten stoned.

Momentary distractions, some not even distracting but instead instigating the monster to come take me.
I don't know if it will ever go away. If I will ever be able to fight it.
All I know is that it takes away a part of me every time it comes to play. And I don't know if I will get to the pieces in time. Sometimes the monster stays for months. Sometimes for a few minutes.
I just want it to leave me alone. But then sometimes I wonder who I would be without it, would I be who I am now?

The problem is, I don't know what is wrong with me. Why the monster exists? Why it wants me so bad? Why do I have to be the victim of it's mind games? And does it not realize that there is collateral damage?

If I could I would kill it. I wonder if killing myself would make it go away. I am not allowed to kill myself. They won't let me. It would put the monster to sleep, but then I wouldn't be left here either.
But isn't it for the greater good? No more damage. No more pain.

I'm just exhausted.
So exhausted.
Tired.
Fighting a losing battle.

I'll never be alone.

I will always have the monster. 

The Age of Pretension.

I believe that this is the age of pretension. That everyone is pretentious. People who are ostentatious about it are attacked by people who are pretentious about not being pretentious. It's become a way of life. Everyone is trying to impress each other. Everyone is constantly trying to project a certain image, my argument is that even not trying is a way of trying. Constantly trying to be different, constantly trying to be better, or trying to fit into the image that you think others approve of. Your pretension may not be the same pretension as your neighbor's, but both are pretension. What is real anymore? What is actually you? Either you try to fit into a stereotype or you are vehemently against stereotypes and fall into the stereotype of being against stereotypes. Is anything really for yourself? Isn't it all about how the others see you? And even if you do say it is for you, how much of that is true? What is you? You is what you think. And what you think is dictated by so many external factors. 
How do we break out?
Can we break out?
Has anyone ever actually broken out of the endless cycles? Or has the cycle just morphed with each age?
Does anything I say make sense?
I know I am being pretensious by writing this. 

I just had to get it out of my head. 

Disillusionment.

You're either broken, doped out or a drunk. You're either dirt poor or a part of the 1%. We al want to be diagnosed, we all want a prescription. Feeling pain is the trend. Not feeling pain is the trend. Everything is a trend. Nothing is yours. Your thoughts are handed out like free candy, pleasing the palates of your so called friends. Your soul is laid out on a silver platter to fulfill the hunger of your critics. Nothing matters and everything does. We're stuck in our disillusionment and can't seem to touch reality. 

Untitled.

We are the future.

We are the broken down.

We are the messed up.

We are the ones they write songs about.

They write songs about how we don’t know what we are doing.

They write songs about how we are beautiful.

They write songs about how we are a disappointment.

We are the ones who have to figure it all out.

We are the ones who have to fight our way through.

This is all we have left.

Long sentences.

Rhythmic disobedience.

Confused protests.

Every person you meet.

Ever soul you have the pleasure of witnessing in action.

All of it comes together in the chaos that is our generation.

The failed aspirations and the search for meaning.

The thwarted talents and the smashed dreams.

With every passing day our sound grows from a dull hum to a fierce roar.

We don’t know what we are doing.

We don’t know where we are going.

We don’t know who we even are.

This is us.

This is one of those inspirational advertisements for jeans.

This is one of those music festivals we attend to lose ourselves.

This is the weed we smoke and the rum we drink.

We are a culmination of their mistakes.

We are the sum of our experiences.

We are the result of our biology.

These words are just another bunch strung together.

Typed out in the dead of the night on a MacBook Air.

We have substance.

We are shallow.

We are the walking contradictions.

Prepare for the end of the world.

We are the apocalypse.

Tread lightly.

Be warned.

We are the future.

A force to be reckoned with.

A force to disregard.

We are the future.