Blank Pages

March 17th, 2013

I don't know who I am.

I don't know where I am going.

And I'm terrified.

I think about how ironic it is, for me to be sitting here in a dark room surrounded on all sides with nothing but the light of my phone and the short gasps of breaths I take, the motion shattering the illusion of stillness and filling my body. This body, a cage, a mask created to hide beneath, but I've become trapped inside, losing myself in the pounding of my heart and the rise and fall of my chest, formerly a constant, now jagged, uneven, revealing me, trapped inside. And what am I inside, anyway? Just blood. And bone. And everything I'm feeling, all this insanity, it's just a spark, sent to my brain. It's just the release of hormones, messages. It's not real. Nothing's real.

Have you ever just stopped and thought about whatever's out there? What if whatever being is out there just made you. And me. And him. And her. And it. And He (or She) just shoved us here together, and somewhere else (who knows where) He -or She- has created another colony, just like ours, but out of reach? Maybe you aren't even real. Maybe I'm not real. We are all pawns, imaginary figments or someone else's mind, enacting a story for the purpose of teaching a lesson of a life that doesn't exist.

But who knows if there even is A Being? Maybe we weren't created. Maybe we simply exist. Because if God created us, who created God? Maybe we are our own God, to create life and make our own destiny. Or maybe everything has already been decided. Who knows? Everything is a mystery.

Because there are no facts.

Everything is circumstantial.

And it terrifies me.

-Unknown