Nirvana Again

Yet again, I am back to listening to the same damn Nirvana songs I listened in my bedroom at the age of 15. Somehow my feelings, my diappointment, my discouragement and rage towards the world has not changed one bit. These songs, I tell myself, are a way to channel my anger, to not yell at myself, to not yell at inanimate objects. And yet, somehow, at 24 this anger feels different. I am in no position to be so codependent to a feeling that I had forever stopped looking for, or at least that is what I told myself. I am running from my own thoughts. The curious thing about my brain is that it never stops regenerating new thoughts, new concerns, new paranoia that straight up eat my tissue and much like acid, transform my pleasant memories and impressions, into wrinkly, ugly, bitter pieces of very green olives. It is the very true image of what happens to every lovely thing that ocurred in my life. I cannot control these thoughts, I cannot seem to contain them. I am terrified of the sound of my own thoughts when I fall asleep at night, or even at moments of rest during the day. What’s more: I am convinced that I am not the only one.

Trying to wrap my head around how I manage to trigger this very powerful and real darkness, I can only think how unbearable it seems to exist and understand people’s actions. I have slowly realized that I was not brought up in proportion to the real darkness of the world. My disappointment, my lack of social awareness and the lack of an unspoken harmony has grown. At times, I have hugged my darkness, found myself on the floor unable to breathe. Had people around me say that I am weak for letting this world get to me, but I do not know otherwise. In any moment of my life I would forever choose happiness. How do I let the existence of all things inconsiderate, intolerant, and lust not get to the core of my head. So I am running, away from the silence before falling asleep.

I am saved by my words...