What can I make of depression and anxiety, besides constant rants to the three voices that live in a rented apartment in my head and scanning my iTunes for artists who've achieved commercial success making music made for depressing, suicidal individuals out there? I feel like I've been out cold since that imaginary accident that happened when I was Ten because that's all I can remember. I remember living in a state of complete consciousness up till I turned Ten and everything after that seems relatively non-existent. What have I been doing between the ages Ten to Twenty? For Ten years what the fuck have I been doing? I can't even recall the bad times, aren't the bad times supposed to be etched in your memory? I don't see any carvings on my stones, no, I don't. I've checked and double-checked. I've tried to search for even the slightest scratch under a microscope. I've been in a coma for Ten years and someone else has been living out my life for me. I have thoughts of how it would be like if I turned out to be this disturbed being, continuing to ignore the fact that these three voices in my head, living in a rented apartment have collectively decided and have intentionally knocked me out cold so that they can live out my life for me. I wouldn't be so concerned with why they did that, I'd be more interested in finding out why they decided to wake me up from my slumber after Ten years. Why Ten years? Why wake me up at all even; after living my life for me and doing what's right for me without my knowledge? Is this some sort of cruel reference to Dylan's, no one is free, even the birds are chained to the sky ? I wish I could say that I am this disturbed individual. I so badly want to use this as an excuse for the state I am entering into. But alas, I cannot, because I am not the disturbed individual I so badly want to be, I'm just a dazed Twenty year old, trying to make sense of what I see around me.
Now playing: Beach House - Take Care
via FoxyTunes
