I have nothing of great substance to cohere and thread about in this instance, but I do have an impulse to record, to write.

In and out, day in day out, fluctuating emotional state up and down. Inability to grasp, to hold, to sustain.

I am only the observer of these instances. I perceive the pain, the pressure and temperature throughout my body. This, however, feels like a defense.

My greatest fantasy is to reset my life, to start anew.

I have patterns of psychological inner narration that reinforces to me that I’m not doing enough, and that I have a potent gift that needs to be expressed, that is my true calling and I know this to be true, the unfurling of the faces of my psyche. Addressing ego, addressing shifts in psychological states and personalities, its always shifting.

That seems to be the key, that the psychological and emotional existence is always shifting. Chaos is reality, that which is always in flux, changing, waving. My true existence is that I am a consciousness of this chaos, and the awareness of this chaos, especially in this age of social media and mass information, is absolutely debilitating and suffocating.

I feel as if only a fraction of my humanity is active each and every day. I can’t help but feel as if this existence is not suitable for the human animal.

The only comfort I have is that I observe, that is all.