I sit here, wherever "here" is, unawares of myself, desperately clinging to the concept of existential angst. Angst being the feeling of dread, anxiety, or anguish; existential angst being those feelings as related to one's mere existence. A concept which I, ironically enough, feel angst towards, my conflicted affliction being perhaps beyond or beside it.
The anxiety is felt, but not so much the anguish nor dread. Perhaps it is a marriage of anxiety and ambivalence instead. I ponder the devices which enable man's attribution, whether by discovery or creation, of meaning, yet refuse said devices out of desire to be neither puppet nor perpetrator of such pontificated results preposterously purporting purpose procurement and acquisition.
I revile the idea of relinquishing to the revel of relentlessly reticent yet relieving religion, however relevant it's respite might be to my ridiculous restless riddling.
I am enervated by the endless exploration of enticing new enlightening endeavors, despite what enjoyment involved or experience endowed.
I am conflicted over the confluence of countless commitments. Counter to my conscripted contracts, I contract from contacts confounded by the contrast in the contention of my contradictory conscience and countenance.
I feel feverishly fettered in feigned frivolous friendships fitted with fallacious facades and full of fickle fixations on fleeting fancies, and favor finding fidelity and faithfulness in familiarity over faint fantasies fraught with flimsy fluctuating filament of fortune. Yet I find familiarity in few, find the few far-flung, and find confidence unfeasible.
I am perturbed by the precarious personality of pleasure; perchance the possibility of peculiar peace at the price of palpable perfidy of occupational pacts and personal promises.
How do I put this into more easily digestible words?... I'm feeling exhausted before even mustering the energy to do anything. I'm feeling the motivation and desire, but it's not translating into action... I'm down before I fight. Perhaps, Winter is keeping me down and quashing my spirits... but it feels like there's more than just that.
The Behemoth is back... I faced it, reconciled with it... thought I learned how to live with it. But it seems to be stronger than ever before. I keep trying to fight it in day to day, step-by-step bits, but it just overwhelms me with its enormity.
It's times like this that make me question... everything, beliefs, people, God, myself, the questioning itself.
If a storm seemingly makes no sound, no waves, nor any perceivable signs of destruction... is it a storm?
How do I live an authentic life if it doesn't seem like I'm living at all?
"And I can't find any reason, only complicated feelings"
Is it sad that a line from a somber breakup song accurately sums up all my ramblings?
Probably.
However, it is helpful and useful.
The tiredness that comes with a pointless existence is hard to describe... it seeps into the soul but doesn't necessarily provide any external evidence.
What am I to do?
... I don't expect any answers, ever, however, maybe it's worth asking, in and of itself.
