Man, sometimes I really worry about us - the kids of this generation and all who'll follow. Occasionally I'll genuinely sit and get distraught about how hopeless we seem, slaves to instant gratification and synthetic interactions played out behind computer screens. It's like I'm trying to deny the inevitability that is becoming completely jaded, and since I'm one of those people who needs to feel, I'd rather immerse myself in total pain than have no emotion at all. And so the "seasonal depression" sets in, although we should all just be honest and call it what it really is - perpetual swings of boredom-induced depression with fragments of momentary happiness sprinkled in when possible. They say to live in the present but it's simply too overwhelming sometimes, I don't have the mental capacity to process all of it. Lately I've been realizing all these things about myself that I don't even truly understand, it's like I'm watching myself from the other side of the mirror wondering how I got there. I'm 22 you know, so naturally all of this existential shit is bound to come up every once in a while, but I think I've always been an over-thinker and existentialist, even in my stroller days. I was, however, not always a masochist. The first time I ever learned that word I was about 10 or so, after I asked my Grandma why it felt so good to bite the inside of my cheeks even though it hurt. But now more than ever, I'm understanding that pain - physical and mental - definitely play a huge part in the way I deal with emotions. I have a history of these sadistic self-inflicted episodes, like many of my fellow tormented 20-somethings I'm sure, and it's almost interesting to see how they evolve as I get older. I've gone through all the stages - from the innocent childhood injuries to obsessive compulsive black holes to just trying to drown it all in a sea of drugs and alcohol - but now that I've got to be somewhat of a functioning, responsible adult, the easiest form of masochism seems to be mental torture. It's really sick to admit this, but there's something kind of motivating about thinking that I'm never good enough. I guess this is the sad reality that most bitches living in today's world have to face - we're so expectant of criticism that we become our own biggest bullies. Hardening ourselves so others can't do it first. But sadly for me, I can't ever really seem to harden. There's still too much naiveté, too much childhood nostalgia, too many Disney endings that tarnished my mind. And then there's reality - the present - and it's always right fucking there, just like time, never changing, never stopping, never waiting, always just going on whether you care or not. Ugh, highs and lows, highs and lows. So how am I dealing with my teenage-esque pre-quarter-life crisis? By submerging myself in a musical cloud of Daft Punk's Random Access Memories, of course. It's the kind of music that makes you wanna be alone with someone you don't have to talk to. You know, that kind of comfort where you can just be with each other and not feel obligated to make unnecessary chit-chat. If you're crafty when it comes to downloading shit free online, go ahead and get on that right now. Sure to have you transported to space for at least a few days straight.
P.S. My next post will be way less Debbie-Downerish, I swear.