"why don't you face your own demons, erick?"
"because i think if i do i will be miserable."
this is my own way of dealing my issues. hearing and thinking of others' stories as an escape from mine.
basically, i tend to clutter my thoughts. tire it 'til it goes pitch dark, 'til it gives out white noise. i may not be totally victorious, but atleast i have burried them down for the meantime. though they kept on casting stones at my window last night, leaving me sleepless.
thinking is something very tiring to do, especially these past few days. its like looking for something that you haven't met before though you feel its presence. its exhausting and its draining. while some say its liberating. but can someone really claim his total freedom?
for me, facing your demons is like standing on the edge of a deep dark well. either you jump over it and walk forward or you surrender yourself in an eternal free fall.
everyone has their own demons in them, regardless of any classifications. these are those things that keep on itching inside you and struggling to go out. but we keep on pushing them back, trying to hold them as perpetual secrets. we repress it for we are scared of its possible outcomes like acts that may go out of control; feelings that may overcome rationality; and even lust that may lead to addiction.
i admit, i am not that brave to face nor conquer my own. and admitting this is the only brave thing i could do so far. but if this is the only thing that will keep me intact and sane, can you blame me for it?
for in a world full of vicious and conniving wolves, where all are hidden underneath deceiving sheep skins, its really difficult for one to look and join his "real" flock. but the thing is, if one keeps on rubbing about his lays and petty talks of superficiality as if they are the only things that actually move life, will you expect people to take him seriously? can he blame the universe for not giving him the other half of their soul? or can he even point others for always being left behind?
sad to say, but i guess, the definition of machismo has already reached its universality and this isle of desolation; expressed by the number of sex, depicted by rounded off inches and measured by face trophies. and the worst part of it is that it already made the game borderless and endless, to the point that everybody is already trying to play alice, just to justify things through their own self-built wonderlands.
at the end of the day, i can say that i am no preacher nor moral thrower. but if these are the demons that life had set for me, then perhaps, not facing them is "my" right track.