Breaking my Dependence

I don’t know if calling this process ‘resorting’ to writing would be the right thing to call it. I don’t know what to call it actually, and it’s funny on so many levels how that’s so intertwined with what the problem really is. I get distracted and overwhelmed easily and a lot, which is why I have trouble talking or writing things out, and which is why whatever this is is going to be extremely symptomatic of my frequent tangential diversions.

It’s funny though that I continue to write this under the pretext that pouring my heart out into words like this is supposed to help me find salvation (or peace?), when the person who really needs to hear this isn’t going to hear it from me, and even if they did, at this point, being as inconsequential and immaterial as it probably would be, makes me wonder what this salvation really is and what will lead me to it. Though I do not know what it is, I look for it because I know that it’s something that bears no resemblance to what is right now, and I know that I need that; I long for it more than I’ve longed for anything because this is not a state that I’ve enjoyed and certainly not something I’d like to acclimatise myself to, and the only escape route from it seems like being in another state, another way of being, another subtly underlying yet overpowering idea of reality as manifest in the present. Whether that is how it is, or that is a disability that this state of being has attached to me remains unclear to me, and the lack of that clarity seems unfair because what I seek is an exit and an exit alone, and it feels like it’s being hidden from me for I can’t convince its protector that I’m fully aware of what lies behind it.

It’s unfair because it forces me to familiarise myself with the unknown future while resting in the very discomfort of the present that I seek to escape. I get no buffer; no continuum that is characterised by some familiarity that I can count on. All of the familiarity imploded into that uneasiness of disbelief, of doubt and unanswered questions, of questions the answers to which I thought were wonderfully obvious, but that perhaps don’t want the answers to anymore. It is this continuum that dependence rests in, and in the absence of which it is challenged and independence shattered. Even those so sick of dependence and for all practical purposes completely independent (of materiality, people, communication, whatever one could be depend on), are indeed dependent on being in that state of independence. The slightest challenge to that dependence can shatter their independence and the dependence on being independent. The longing for that continuum free from ties of unfamiliarity and/or discomfort is manifest in realization – realization that the only thing one trusted and could count on or had grown to count on i.e. one’s independence, was also a sign of dependence, a sign of the very weakness one had tried to remove all signs of.