The Other

The sense of it doesn't actually matter. I don't feel any pain, well not actual physical pain. It seems the longer I sit here and wait the more drawn out it becomes. I become. This feeling of ambivalence sits at the brink of my existence and torments me, like a bird needs to escape a predator that grows near at dusk.
This doesn't always control my thoughts, my actions .It seeps back into my sphere of being when I converse in a different manner. Once I move to make contact with another body it moves aside, leaving space for a cardboard cut out of a person to step in front of all that is me, all that makes me, bonds my mind set .To portray me as a care free, happy person. Native to the surroundings that encompass me, which the other could not possibly work within the boundaries of.

It's as if when I step into this hollow block of concrete, my other gets torn, ripped from me and left waiting patiently at the doorway. I see it waiting, probably tapping his foot, maybe even looking at his watch not really caring or being cautious about his surroundings. Just waiting for it's self to return so it can combine again. Feel at home again.

Slowly pushing forward with its soft pads until it has a possibility of a foot hold. When this occurs it floods with despair and darkness to the forefront of existence and conscience drowning all other beings and thoughts. I am thankful it doesn't exist outside me. It would encompass the whole world with its black tar like stickiness and suffocate all.

The worst of it is. I seem to be trapped, trapped in my own head with this infectious mind set engulfing anything that has any possible hope of optimism, but I some how cope with this what seems like a great burden to me. Others look on in disbelief or are even disgusted at what they see. This man apparently cursed with this, oh so heavy burden.

The truth of it is. I don't really care. Not in the sense of thinking about what they have to say about me. I say this, but it doesn't appear in this concrete box of mine. It waits patiently outside, wanting me to return, wanting to remerge, wanting to re-attach like a leech to a human, already sucked dry.

What I don't understand is how people can just keep on moving towards their apparent goal, whatever they think that maybe. They don't appear to have this other, they don't appear to have this oh so heavy burden of mine. Maybe I don't appear this way to them, I have no way of really telling. This kind of absolute certainty can only be achieved from confronting them and conversing with them. This I can do with my other self, but I don't feel comfortable with using this because it seems distrustful. Speaking behind its back like a school girl yearning for gossip to tell a friend to pass down the hierarchical line.

These people move through life totally oblivious of their surroundings.

This is the problem, when people don't understand. When people don't embrace themselves, know what is going on or at least have a clue to what it going on, they suffer. This is the true person that is, but now there is a breed which has no warning system that something is wrong. They just stumble through life, like a lost catholic school girl who wanders from the beaten track and blindly walks down an alley only to get grabbed by someone and raped, left for dead, spent. Thrown away like a metallic object filled with a drink to quench a thirst that is never quenched, even for a second.
It's the perpetual loop of such events that seem to draw other of a like mind and continue the loop in its own perpetual state.

If this other engulfs me it will lead to disaster. It will turn this other and all others connected to it into a recluse. No longer able to cope or communicate or emulate any of the other traits that passes for a normal. I must keep in control, keep on top of it. This I must do if nothing else, but I must also endeavour to fit in with my surroundings, taking control whenever I can. I say this but I do not really know what it is I must do to stay in control. Whatever happens I usually stumble through life blindly following a path of trodden stone and brush, which many have walked or crawled before me. They are there, maybe waiting for me like the other. Tapping their foot looking at their watches, waiting, tapping. Ready to join, re-attach, merge, once again.