Journal: No title

Stockholm, January 2018

There is not a clear explanation of how everything began, but I know that it has been constant and I have been  unable to stop it. I fall as the water falls through the sewers in a rainy day , into a silent darkness, but unlike of the underground planned patterns water follows, I do it within my thoughts  into unknown paths that existed within me.

I became unable to step back and the daily solitude makes it harder to hold to who I am. I am there, but not really there. An autopilot leads my daily routine, while my inner self struggles to gain control over the things that define me. There aren’t rights or wrongs, just unclear ideas and mixed feelings about the things and persons around me.

I get lost in the endless labyrinths my mind creates in loneliness, but unlike Theseus; I have no thread to follow back. There is no Minotaur in my labyrinth, yet I fear a reflection of  myself awaits me at the center. Will it leave me there and take over? I don’t know.  My constant pain is unclear and unfounded, but slowly spreads into my daily life and those around me. Do I want it to inflict it to others or do I want them to help me escape? I am not sure, yet countless times I have somehow being face-to-face to the possible truth without finding any catharsis. There is nothing to confess, yet there is also nothing to not feel guilty of. Nothing new can be extracted for my sayings and I achieve no deeper understanding of the paths within my mind. There is no regret neither acceptance , just an attempt to find out where my real conscience lays within the one I fabricated.

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