I think I’m starting to remember who I actually am. Remembering that in reality I don’t care what happens to me. I don’t care about the things around me. And I don’t care for my future.

Any idea of a goal or purpose has been made artificially as to prevent myself from taking the actions fitting for one who is confined to live within such conditions.

A hopeful part of me, to which I do not know the origin or identity, attempts to cover up this truth of the worthless condition I’m trapped in, but when I return to it, it is with many consequences to all those with expectations of me including, most of all, myself.

There is a great deal of loneliness that comes from being in such a place that none around you exist within. In this loneliness, isolation, and thus, the pointlessness of existence, is perpetuated to a point that no one should expect one to continue living. The only solution to the challenge of preserving the life of one who exists in such a place, is for such a person to create a false self. To create a self that lives for something, that the true self, cares not for.

It is impossible however, to keep the true self hidden by such illusions of purpose. Once the false self becomes comfortable enough in their purpose, they will question its origins. It is then, that all will crumble, and the return of the true self will bring with it, the confinement.. of the black sun.

There is a truly terrible place that exists not within the minds of us, but that our minds exist within. A black sun that one’s soul might be cursed to exist beneath. A place where hope is but a fleeting lie. A place beyond the control of one’s efforts, only pierced by the last light of the setting sun. But I don’t see that warm glow right now. I don’t know if freedom is possible. I’m still trying to find that out.

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