Cracks in the pane of Enlightenment

I think there is a dark space within us all. And that darkness is only growing, its roots growing thicker into the inner essence of who we are. But those roots are breaking apart the fragile pieces that keep us together. We're like cracks in glass, splittering apart, only to shatter into a thousand pieces.

I don't think this darkness is caused by a greater understanding of ourselves, as we are repeatedly told. All that we say we know - through cognitive sciences, neurology and and other neurosciences based on cultural imperialisms - there is within its own language enough logic to refute itself.

No the darkness comes from this belief that we can somehow know better. The myths of Enlightenment that for whatever reason we cannot seem to shake off. The colonial, social Darwinist myths of Enlightenment, I should add.

This superior belief is the foundation of the hierarchical systems that cause inequality, and cause endless power battles.

This needs to end... Before we are pieces of glass that can no longer connect.

Confessions of Depressed Mad-woman

I am in the shower, curled up on the floor. The hot water splatters down the sides of my neck and down my back. I am quivering, shaking, and exhausted, despite the fact that it's 9pm and I've spent the whole day sleeping. The salty tears roll down my face.

The memories are coming back. The years of insults, bullying, endless dreams of a future that would actually mean something. The beginning of all of this: the on-going battle just to live. And more than anything, the loneliness. The deep, haunting loneliness that bellows out from the deepest part of my soul.

It's no dog barking. There is no fucking black dog.

It's a creature of thick black tar that insipidly crawls in my body. All is heavy. All is disgusting. I want to tear my insides out, rip away at my flesh and push the thick darkness out.

Five years of this. Five years of my life have gone on a battle I don't want to fight. How much longer? All my ambition, my drive, my excitement and enthusiasm about the future has been washed away.

And the anger is building up. All that frustration, that feeling of being treated like an idiot by everyone. Around me, people are building up a life. I still feel like a teenager: angst, rebellious, desperate to escape from a world that has bound me to its expectations of propriety.

I want to belong somewhere. I want to feel like someone actually wants me. I don't want to be a burden anymore. My heart is tearing at itself apart, desperate to find the Nishma who used to believe in a better world.

A relapse of letters

Perhaps it is time to restart writing. Perhaps it is time to let the words slip down the crevices of your mind, from technological transactions through to neurological influxes. But my mind is caught, reluctantly clutching onto this part of a mindspace that is hollow, empty & void. They do not form. They want to gesticulate, perform, express without meaning or structure. The slip away from my fingers as I reach out, desperate to clutch onto them, and anything... Anything at all. Where do we start thinking? Where do the words form? I feel unable to enanciate, and yet I could - in the deepest, darkest part of my soul. And I am so close to it again. Rules, regulations, behavioural codes - what do all of these mean? Nothing. The words are stuck in my throat. I'm hurtful, or the hurted? I know not anymore.