Lately I’ve been thinking about the concept of time. How life is fleeting, and no matter what you do, or what you say, or how you handle situations, time will continue going, and the curse (or blessing, depending on if you are an optimist or not) of forgetfulness will eventually catch up with you. It will take and take and take until you are nothing but food for worms and fertilizer for plants. Is it worth it to meddle in situations to make yourself feel better, or find a glimpse of peace in the constant movement of life? Is it worth it to yell, and scream, and shout, and run out of breath or words that explain how you feel, until you are nothing but a shell of your former self? Is it worth it to pity yourself? Talk to your friends about how you didn’t deserve whatever effects you negatively that day? No. It’s all a waste of time.
It’s fine to wallow. Sometimes it’s actually what is needed for your own well being– but when does wallowing become harmful? When does it become another harmful habit, alongside sugar and cigarettes? When does wallowing begin to become a parasite, filling your mind with anything but positivity? See, I like to write poetry about how I feel. I turn that poetry into assignments, competitions, or my personal projects, but lately words don’t seem to transfer to paper how I want it to. I end up wasting time by thinking about how to write. I tend to forget that writing is engraved into my soul.
I forget that writing doesn’t have to be perfect, or neat, or precise. It can be a representation of my messy, disorganized brain. I don’t have to pick and pull and revise every bit of what I do. I can turn off my filter, pick up my pencil, and be free to express the things I’ve deemed too scary to talk about. I’m not good with reading my work to people, or talking about how I feel without crying. I’m not sure why, but it’s always felt so personal. So close and dear, that when I share I feel like I’m spilling secrets I swore not to repeat. I digress. I think a lot about how others see me. Am I loud or eccentric? Quiet and mellow? Do I feel generic? These thoughts, however, prove to be another big waste of time.
This way of thinking may not be the healthiest, but it is, however, the most realistic. When will I ever settle with the thought that the time I’ve spent thinking about time will never be retrievable? And when will I feel content being stuck in my own mind most days? When will derealization turn into an escape rather than this hell I’m forced into? I know this blog isn’t like my usual ones, but I have found that I cannot write about anything else right now. My brain is speeding at a million miles per hour, yet I feel like I’m moving too slow. In the blink of an eye, it will be Christmas. I wish that just for one second, I could sit down and find a way to force contentness, until the feeling is genuine. I know I am not the only one who feels or has felt this way, so maybe someone has advice for me?
I love my life, I love my friends, I love my family, and I love MSA! I just wish I could find a way to accept the passing of time, and the forgetful nature of my mind.
I used to feel like this all the time. Especially towards the end of last year, I was terrified of time passing. I was especially scared of not being able to go back and redo things like you said! But eventually, I somehow started to accept the passage of time. I went down one of those “hopecore” rabbit holes on tiktok, and there was a reply in the comments that still to this day sticks with me. It was a comment saying that the creators project will take a long time, and the creator replied with “the time will pass anyway.” I thought about that for a ridiculously long time before I was finally able to think “yeah it will pass and I should try to make it count before it passes.” I’m not sure if this will help with what you’re feeling, but it’s what helped me. Stay present and take care of yourself.
I feel this! I wish for a moment when time would slow down enough for me to be comfortable, but maybe not being comfortable is what’s constantly pushing us- me, you to be better. Someone more than just writing feelings on a page in neat formation. It’s showing us that, regardless of these human troubles, we’ll shed our mortal skin and write secrets the universe will whisper, even our death.