Why?

Why did you knock,

Why did you insist on coming in, 

            When you didn't intend to stay?

Why did you ask me to trust you,

           when you couldn't keep a promise?

Why break my heart,

        Why?

           Why?

You just don't answer or is silence your answer.

Suicidal Thoughts

I want to kill myself.

Yes, I do.

The vaccum, I live in, is wearing my nerves. It is eating me alive. It is so much pain for me to endure. My tolerance is wearing thinner and thinner.

And I am losing my appetite for life.

Will death be better? What do I believe in, concerning death.

‘First of all, it’s important that suicide be difficult,’ Robert said. ‘And then continuing to live isn’t only continuing to breathe. No one ever succeeds in settling down in complete apathy. You like certain things, you hate others, you become indignant, you admire – all of which implies that you recognize the values of life.’ 
From The Mandarins - Simone De Beauvoire

I am settling down in complete apathy. I go on living, just 'cause I have to, because I was built that way.

This was suicidal jWoman, on a day not far away.

My Reading: The Great Gatsy

I have just finished reading Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. It is a smooth going reading that entertained me for a sometime.

I finished it with two thoughts from Gatsby. My fear of loneliness, of dying alone, was triggered again by sad ending of Gatsby. No one was there for him, I am not concerned about the incredulous, meaningless way he died in, but that he was alone, no one there to bury him or say a prayer. No one to visit his grave. Does a dead person care about who visit him anyway? What does death really mean? Where are we after death. I know all the answers different religions have to give but I still haven't found an answer.

The second thought is wasting one's life in illusions. He wasted his life in the illusion of love. He worked hard to get all that money, in all ways but it felt he never really lived a single day. He enjoyed nothing. He lived all his life waiting till the moment of his death. He was just starting to look around, thinking that now I can start enjoying.

“At two o’clock Gatsby put on his bathing-suit and left word with the butler that if any one phoned word was to be brought to him at the pool. He stopped at the garage for a pneumatic mattress that had amused his guests during the summer, and the chauffeur helped him pump it up. "

..........................

“If that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream. He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass. A new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about … like that ashen, fantastic figure gliding toward him through the amorphous trees.”

And the book was concluded by

“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter — tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther… . And one fine morning..........

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

Excerpt From: F. Scott Fitzgerald. “The Great Gatsby.”

This is what jWoman has to say.

It's not OK, because I am not OK.

I can't keep the act anymore. I am not Ok. I am not fine. It is not Ok, because I am not. I can't keep the act anymore. Pretending has worn me out, and all masks , I have worn, has faded and fell off showing my true face; of not being Ok.

I am suspended between heaven and earth. I am nowhere to be reached, no where to be found.

Why do I go on, I just don't know?

Why do I wake up in the morning? I have no idea.

So many a morning lately, I would open my eyes and just stare at at the ceiling. I'd go through my mind, looking in every dark, forgotten corner of my mind for a reason to go on and found none. I wake up every morning and go to work. I eat, drink, sleep. I talk and answer. I chat and smile. But I feel nothing. I feel void.

I do all that with inertia.

But from the physics lesson about inertia, I still remember that inertia is not a driving force. It has a limit, an end. One day, I will not move from bed anymore. One day, I will not utter another word.

I am living, going on, proceeding but I am not OK. I am keeping the pretense but not for long. I don't feel anything. Nothing really touches me.

I know that some hurts of my mine are still bleeding. I know I have hurt myself even before anyone else attempted to do me the favor. I know a lot about it all and I am conscious of all that. It's not part of my unconsciousness. No. I am conscious and I perceive and comprehend all.
This is utter HELL.

I wish I was neurotic, or any kind of psycho that has no idea this was all going on in his mind. But I am not. I am aware of all that is going on and I have a hyper analytical brain that will bring me to my end soon.

I am on the verge of breaking down. I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

This is how jWoman feels today.

My Movie: The theory of Everything

It's not just a movie. It's a piece of something so profound, so genuine , so beautiful but painful.

It's not just the brilliance of a man or his defiance of all limitations, it's the story of the universe. It's so pure, like a walk in an untouched wood, or forest, where human distortions never reached.  The beauty of a human mind, heart and soul. His pain was so beautiful and his smile was so painful. He is a pure human figure, purified by the pain and left out of all the .

It's not just a love story, it's a life concert. He is an embodiment of the celebration of life. And to me he is a living proof of the existence of God. 

He is the painful beauty. I can't explain how beauty can bring pain but I perceived it and so it does, at least to me.

How can we get such strength, do we need so much pain to get out the best in us?? Can we just get it out on purpose? Do we all have such strength and beauty? Or has all the devilish details of our lives took away from us this capability, this beauty.

Thanks Stephen Hawkin

That's jWoman's words for tonight.

My Reading: Atlas shrugged

I have just finished this book. I have been reading it for so long. I have started it months ago, I can't recall how many indeed. Now, I can say really, 'thanks Ayn Rand'. This book was a real eye opener. It gave shape and meaning to some odd thoughts and ideas I used to have. It put into words what I have been fighting to make sense of. However, on the other hand, it increased my anger towards the society that I live in and the hereditary ideas and concepts of self destruction disguised as virtue, as self sacrifice.

I might not be that radical and I don't agree with every bit of her objectivism. However, selfishness and its misuse in our society is where I found Ayn Rands words and thoughts really enlightening. 

I still really respect the our cultural heroes, whether they are the soldiers who fight for the sake of their countries and people who really work in charity and people like Mother Teresa. But I look at them differently. To me, it is not selflessness that motivates them, or the need to nullify their existence. No, they were selfish in there own way. They did that with love, satisfaction and peace. They loved their lives so much and enjoyed it to the fullest in their own way.

I can accommodate our differences. Our variations is what made life possible and what keeps life going. Joy, love, happiness, satisfaction are relative issues and I can't measure how happy someone else is according to my measures not even my loved one or very close family member. But as long as I am doing what I am doing with love, passion, peace and eagerness then I am doing it selfishly. I am doing it for myself before any other end. My benefit from this work will be more than to any other beneficial.

And I do believe in God and Christ but there is something about the religion of today that I question and most often it repels me. I am repelled by the rituals that z

Those I can't ever accommodate or understand are the looter, as called in the novel. The parasites of our society who lives on my consent to feed them from my work while they deserve nothing. 

The last part of the long was prolonged too much for my taste. I was persistent to finish it but at time it got too boring. It could have been shortened without losing much. Some criticizes the book as being unreal or the characters. I don't think I care whether or not. Maybe at time she exgeratted in drawing the looters as bad looking and too evil. I think in reality it isn't that clear or consistent. The important to me is the essence of their existence, whether the parasites or the mind-owner.

It was a great book. I enjoyed it.

Echos

The night is long, too long
I hear your voice, I almost feel you near.
I stretch out to you but you're not there
And all I feel is coldness.
The air in the room freezes and my heart too slow to go on
My life burdened with unbearable pain, and I can't go on.

"You're my life. I can't hurt you"
But you did.

I still hear your voice in my ears, the echo of your words still in the room
But yet when I reach out for you in the darkness, coldness is all I feel.

Questions kill me, suffocate me in this freezing room.
Words said ...............and words yet................... not said eat my heart away.
And the echos are all that is left of you

The space you.............. once filled is vacuum now.
I can't breath the pain out,.............. I can't go on
I am drowning in my bed
I am freezing to death, echos of words you said are deafening my ears.

Echos of you are killing me mercilessly