Aid is not for some

What the fuck is going on in my head? It all seems so confused. I don't know what is all is any more. Nobody seems to tell me why I can't deal with any pressure anymore. Noone seems to understand why I feel like this. Is it only self-esteem? Am I seeking out attention? The why all the anger? Why can't I email people/keep in contact/etc?

Nothing seems to make any sense anymore. Doctors don't understand and are more obsessed with preaching than actually saying anything useful. "Low self-esteem is a form of arrogance"- thanks I know; I'm all self-obsessed with my loathing (in case I forget). They're more interested in the books I read than what I actually feel.

And what is with the okay days versus the awful days? Why are some days alright whereas others are so horrible that getting up, moving or doing anything at all becomes incredibly difficult.

There's nobody who understands and I feel so lost. I don't want this to continue. I need help and I don't know where to find it.

Eugh

The NHS is hopeless organisation which has little understanding of anything. I am supposed to "read self-help books" and wait 2 months to speak to a counsellor. What a great system.

On another note, Obama and McCain are pointless in tackling climate change. Biden should have stuck to his previous statement in which he said that there was no such thing as clean coal.

It never ends...

There is nothing more to say. Whoever helps ultimately ends up destroying. What more can we do?

Shades of Grey

There is a sense of grey in this hollow world. Things spin around in incessant spirals, leading to nowhere, trashing and crashing. There is nothing more. The rivers are now drying and all is empty.

Eyes stare into the grey paint etched onto the edge of this world. They say these eyes will help. That seeing more of them will make everything a little clearer. I tried and the grey would not leave. It's hard to say you see clearly, when there is only grey.

Sometimes I wish someone would just come and scrape all the grey away. One of them has tried, and he didn't have the right chemicals to peel the paint away. He says I must find the right chemicals. But how can I find them if I can't see?

It's lonely here, in this world. There's nobody else. It's doesn't get very warm either. I don't like the cold, not when it is ubiquitous. I need company or help, but no-one will help me. I can't do this alone.

It's all grey in here. I miss the colours.

Knowledge is Strife

The belief that 'The Truth shall set you free' is obviously nothing more than bollocks; that is, even without referring to postmodern ambiguity. The concept that 'Ignorance is bliss' is also invalid for similar reasons. As such: the accumulation and the absence of knowledge are indeed, Strife.

Why so? Surely knowing something brings liberties, and a greater understanding? I disagree; knowledge is endless, we are not. A search for pure knowledge leads nowhere but back to where you started from. The liberties ascertained from the minute amount of information you gather only lead to a greater sense of not-knowing.

All of which is why ignorance does not bring bliss. A significant lack of knowledge is limiting with respect to your tolerance and flexibility. The more ignorant you are, the more close-minded and miserable you would be. Ultimately, everything has to be the way you are (and want it to be) because otherwise it would be inexplicable, and just plain confusing. Obviously, not much works out the way you want it to.

Ah! But knowledge is control and dangerous. Knowledge can give power to those who know how to manipulate it and destroy those who don't. But where does this power originate from? I suppose we're all thinking there is something more to everything than meets the eye. That knowledge brings about something 'greater', something infinitely terrifying and wondrous.

These are the downfalls of Gnosticism, Jainism, and any other 'mystic' religion(s): that there is nothing more to our existence than the barbaric truths we encounter everyday. That our knowledge is merely a way of copying with our interaction with reality. We constantly think we are being original, innovative, clever and heading to this miraculous thing mentioned as 'progress' or 'development', but these are merely excuses to cope with our aimlessness, our utter pointlessness. Knowledge is knowledge of knowledge; it's actuality is a strife - a constant battle between the wanting-to-know and not-knowing, bringing bliss and misery all in one tidy (infinite?) package.