Another catch-up post, this time from June 14th. Raili has given us another pondersome question to write about:
In all honesty, I don’t think I have ever felt whole. For my entire life, I’ve had this emptiness inside and try as I might, I haven’t been able to fill it up. I don’t even know what I am devoid of to begin to fill it. I’ve tried to fill it with love, sex, material things, education/knowledge, spiritual matters, and even through my writing and art. And yet I remain empty. Something is missing. I don’t know if it is because of my unusual circumstances (being a walk-in) or if it is my body’s genetic make-up, or even my mental illness.
Most of the time, I feel like a giant black hole that continually sucks in matter, but never gets full. This is probably why I associate so much with darkness as it is void of light, because even when I try to suck in light, only darkness remains. It is quite a conundrum for me. I’ve even thought that perhaps it is my purpose to be empty, in a Buddhist concept sense, but again, perhaps that is only me trying to be whole through a spiritual matter. I’ve even thought that maybe I just enjoy wallowing in my own misery, but being empty doesn’t really make me miserable. It doesn’t give me pleasure either. It’s more like I am neutral about the whole ordeal.
I think I’d like to be whole. It sounds quite lovely and peaceful, but altogether foreign to me. I ponder what it would be like to be filled to capacity with something other than emptiness. But then, perhaps emptiness is my wholeness and I should give up trying to fill it with anything.