Ennui : School

I do not know what is is, but i have always found myself seeking solace in school. No matter how old i have been, school has been the one refuge where the raging waves of emotion cannot properly touch me. Perhaps it is because some part of me is so desperate to appear infallible that it has become subconscious to appear detached. It is a welcome relief from the inexplicable torrent of recrimination, of guilt and of anger that claws at me when i am home, or a private space. School is a place where modicums of decorum are kept, and distances repsected. No, not so much respected. People simply couldn’t care less. It’s your own world you’re trapped in. Even friends are transient, rudimentary constructs of social order that we unwittingly (because we are only human) pull around ourselves. We need that familiarity, and i do not blame us. We as a race are fallible in so many ways, and yet we try to cover it up. Always. Even bemoaning our fate is another way of rejection, becuase by shouting it from the top of rooftops we are disallowing ourselves the quiet, the silence, the stillness to truly acknowledge our demons. And when we are forced to do that, as so many of us are inadvertently forced to, we become nightmares, mere shadows of who we were. We parade ourselves as tortured souls, wearing our insides out; we pride ourselves about our eloquence in expressing what we want to do. And our tortured souls become who we are, denying the truth that lies within. The energy of any educational instituition, with the knowledge of desperation somewhere somehow clinging to the insides of your veins, is a refreshing relief. You know you are not alone in your worries, and all the indifference cast your way is merely a by-product of all that everyone else is worrying about. Worry is nothing small; it never is. It may range from trivial to gargantuan, taking up the tiniest sliver of your heart to consuming all of it, suffocating and choking. But worry is somethign we all have to live with, because it is intrinsic to our nature. We worry because we care, and we care because we want to live. As Annie Lennox once wisely sang, “Dying is easiy it’s living that scares me to death.” How apt. I have felt for some time now that i will take the steps to end my life prematurely, going when i choose to, and not when life finally tires of me. I do not forsee the time to be now, nor in the near future, but it is a lingering feeling in my psyche at this point in time that i will. I will take control of that one aspect of me that i have absolute control over. But then again, this is me, sitting at a computer, aged 17, in an inexplicable whirlwind of ennui (alright, perhaps not so inexplicable, given the current circumstance), hammering away at a keyboard. I do not cave to emotions all that easily, chugging away at life at a leisurely pace most of the time and ignoring them, and so this, this tidal wave of darkness that has pushed its way to the confines of my skull, scares me. I am afraid, and searingly lonely. There is not one human on the face of this earth that does not desire human contact at one point or another; it is only in our nature to do so, after all. And i am no different. This yawning, aching chasm of loneliness i thought i had closed by finding so many new friends will not cease to hurt, like a scaar raked open with a red hot poker. No, it does not hurt so much as leaves me longing; if i could i would keen, until someone comes. But i do not, because i know that keening will not help me. The one that i seek solace from is still a mysterious stranger to me; a figure unknown, completely so, to me. I only knowi crave someone who will hold me, content in silence, in an embrace. An embrace so strong and warm that i will allow myself to crumble, to live my demons in the warm womb of the embrace. To cry and cry and cry, so that i never need to face loneliness again. Perhaps what i am seeking is a soulmate, but then again, to place a label upon something of such paramount importance seems trivial, cheap.

I suppose i desire something poweful, and watching Janet McTeer playing Vita Sackville-West has given me a taste of that.

I desire power, but at what cost? The relationships portrayed through history that have been tainted by power sing of tragedy and regret.

I do not know what i want, becuase i do not know me.

Will i ever?

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