Eating alone has become a default and it seems that less and less people care about my well-being, which is understandable but undeniably tear-inducing. It saddens that my phone has demoted to operate as timepiece rather than a device of communication it once was.
I would think that I tried harder than others in many areas of life and gave more thought to matters that deserve it, but it seems that effort at well-being and higher thinking has little impact on its outcome. I actually have an idea on where my life turned south, but past is an area by itself. In theory, what I can change is the present, and I can go about this in a couple of ways, including self-kill.
The general idea of suicide has crossed my mind recently, but not to the degree where it actually matters. When I eat or smoke, the word just lands on me and lingers for a moment until I turn my attention to a newer thought. And after I am done thinking the newer thought, it reappears and sits on me for a bit and again, puff. I have no plans to end my life in such a way, but I think about it because I started to thoroughly understand how people come to make the decision.
A physics book is opened in front of me as I type this, waiting to be studied. But it will not receive the attention it asks for because I need attention more than the silent collection of pages. 3.7 grade point average. It could elevate to 3.8 or 3.9. Or maybe slide down to 3.6, 3.5. And this matters, really? Columbia Law? Medical school, or rap career? LSAT, MCAT, rhyme positioning? What the fuck man, I don't give a shit because I am thoroughly broken and I can't progress unfixed.
It's funny because I will not be repaired anytime soon. I have developed some variation of social phobia; meeting new people is literally difficult, and original people seem to have found their peace elsewhere, maybe on a lover's shoulder -- somewhere that isn't me. Frequent leaves of absence promoted this decline of social connection & interaction, and other factors have played out their purpose, I suppose. I am an introvert by nature, and I chose not to get out of my way to "keep in touch" with many people. So in a way I drove my own slope to disconnection.
Ah, loneliness. I dislike this word: lonely. It carries negative, loser-ish connotations that I would rather not associate myself with. But truth be told -- I am cursed with this dependence-dependent notion of feeling.
There is piano. Piano and marlboro have become my close friends this quarter. I feel at home when I drown in the notes my fingers lay out. Greatness suffocates. Breathlessness & willing suffocation numb weaknesses like loneliness and depression. Numbed, drunk, mad. I am not gifted with the talent of absolute pitch and thus can't play "by ear", but I am instead gifted with the joy of learning. In all ways, Piano is a gift.
My fingers come to play on another occasion. A foreign stick rests between two of more native ones, tainting the latter by imprinting a rather repulsive odor on them. If piano is a good friend, marlboro is a bad one. If piano is home, marlboro is a vacation -- a decadent one. They all say smoking is bad, and I think so too, but its one of the very few things that keep my side. It is here. No awkward phone call has to be made for its presence. No drama, no exchanges of pain.
In Illionaire Gang, Beenzino starts out with the line "I love my life, how bout you?" Fuck you Beenzino because my life is at its lowest point. It was never very lovely, but it was never this bad. I don't know what I can do about it, except prayer, which seldom leads to favorable answers according to my own measure of favorability. In my life, there were two occasions when I prayed desperately for something, but both of them had been shot down, and they have direct relation to my lowly status of the present.
I don't know, I don't know.
