As it appears that there's only one more month left for 2019 to end, I felt like it was time for a proper reminder of this year's events...
For a start, I no longer am unemployed, and I can't express how content I am with the fact that my workplace isn't the worst in this country. Plus, I'm thankful for the company that I'm offered in there -- good people, and good thoughts. To continue writing, even at work, was my main goal, and it's achieved; to write and edit in my own way is like a treat in this line of work. However, I still am determined to pursue further education abroad -- that thought had never left me -- and I will conquer it eventually. All I need now is time, and a dash of luck.
Speaking of time and luck, they are extremely necessary for the coming month, as I have set a mental deadline upon myself: Silence shall near its end. I have high hopes about it, and I hope to deliver it as promised. I'm prepared to cut down on my reading and sleeping hours for it. I need this first draft to be complete, to reassure me. After all, one can't really edit a blank page.
Writing aside, reading's been getting better as of late. Since I started working, my reading schedule had seen all kinds of horrors, but I think I'm managing it well once again. It will be made sure of during the month of December. So far, the things I've read were a real pleasure -- an eye-opener -- and I'm glad to have read the works of many great minds.
Still, not everything is well and going. For instance, During the previous four or so months, I've come to experience something worse than depression: I've called it detachment. In a way, it really affects the mind, dragging you down with loneliness, but that's not all. Its strength resides in its capability to play on a person's existence. One begins to experience an existential crisis with it, and it cannot be any worse. Unlike my depressive episodes, detachment breaks me slowly, forcing me to see the cracks in myself through the eyes of others. In depression, I become dead weight. In detachment, I become non-existent, and it terrifies me. As a way of combat, I've resumed writing a journal, but I can't really say it helps. At least, I know it keeps me sorted.
Anyway, I think I haven't changed much, but again, it's all in the details, right? I still question the sanity of this life, and I still dig for God's negligence. This life, after all, continues heading downward, and it makes me sick. Human beings no longer seem to understand Humanity, and the lands are suffering because of it. And the few remaining good people, well, what can they do? Why were we brought down to this!?
For a start, I no longer am unemployed, and I can't express how content I am with the fact that my workplace isn't the worst in this country. Plus, I'm thankful for the company that I'm offered in there -- good people, and good thoughts. To continue writing, even at work, was my main goal, and it's achieved; to write and edit in my own way is like a treat in this line of work. However, I still am determined to pursue further education abroad -- that thought had never left me -- and I will conquer it eventually. All I need now is time, and a dash of luck.
Speaking of time and luck, they are extremely necessary for the coming month, as I have set a mental deadline upon myself: Silence shall near its end. I have high hopes about it, and I hope to deliver it as promised. I'm prepared to cut down on my reading and sleeping hours for it. I need this first draft to be complete, to reassure me. After all, one can't really edit a blank page.
Writing aside, reading's been getting better as of late. Since I started working, my reading schedule had seen all kinds of horrors, but I think I'm managing it well once again. It will be made sure of during the month of December. So far, the things I've read were a real pleasure -- an eye-opener -- and I'm glad to have read the works of many great minds.
Still, not everything is well and going. For instance, During the previous four or so months, I've come to experience something worse than depression: I've called it detachment. In a way, it really affects the mind, dragging you down with loneliness, but that's not all. Its strength resides in its capability to play on a person's existence. One begins to experience an existential crisis with it, and it cannot be any worse. Unlike my depressive episodes, detachment breaks me slowly, forcing me to see the cracks in myself through the eyes of others. In depression, I become dead weight. In detachment, I become non-existent, and it terrifies me. As a way of combat, I've resumed writing a journal, but I can't really say it helps. At least, I know it keeps me sorted.
Anyway, I think I haven't changed much, but again, it's all in the details, right? I still question the sanity of this life, and I still dig for God's negligence. This life, after all, continues heading downward, and it makes me sick. Human beings no longer seem to understand Humanity, and the lands are suffering because of it. And the few remaining good people, well, what can they do? Why were we brought down to this!?
Be Damned
Be damned, you who turned a blind eye;
Allowing Man to continue his disgrace,
Following the chaotic desire to hurt and kill.
Look at us, what have we become?
What is this wretched evolution?
A dog beaten down to a pulp,
A cat thrown under the blinding sun,
Even the trees are being murdered,
Help, if not us, then those of no will.
Prove yourself! Set this land ablaze,
Show us your goodness; your power,
Save the weak -- protect your creation.
Defend us, O' grand Creator,
Or why else were we created?
Are we meant to be part of this show?
To play along and entertain?
To simply amuse you on your throne?
If so, let this cruel life be damned!
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