Questions of Identity
Things are different now and i capitalize the letters at the beginnings of sentences again. I sometimes even capitalize the letter I when referring to myself, but not always. That will take time. If I’m having a bad day the I is an i because it is a placeholder instead of a name, it is a head on a body instead of the capital G in God and the capital letter at the beginning of your name that makes you real. I don’t capitalize the letter g in god because i don’t believe in it, and sometimes I don’t capitalize my i’s because i don’t believe in myself. It is my habit to capitalize the names i believe in and let the rest be taken as they may.
I don’t capitalize myself because it is sometimes a fact that i am not here, i am a computer code dictating instructions to the machine it inhabits and my code only has as much influence as the codes my parents input. The codes my friends try to put in to bring me back to life are erased from the system by my parents, “stop talking to him and do your homework, I am taking your phone away,” they do not know that the things they are taking are the people that make me a person.
My words have a certain lifelessness now. They are always fact because accuracy is projecting itself over beauty in my mind and body. I do not know if this is right. I do not know how to stop it, i do not know if I should. My depression flooded my mind, devoured what it wanted, and dissolved much of what it didn’t; i do not know if I have lost my ability to make sentences into breathing entities or if it was all a figment of my dying, fevered brain’s imagination and i simply saw life in my words because everything seemed more vibrant than I was.
The disease is waning, yet the realization that i cannot trust what i sense to be true is still there. I am able to logically realize that i am loved, that I am wanted, but i still look in the mirror and am unsure of what i see. Is she beautiful, and everyone is telling me the truth, or is she a human Picasso painting and the rest of me is right? I do not know. I am slightly dissociated from my outer self and genuinely unable to see what i look like. This is part of the reason why I so value truth in those i befriend and/or fall in love with; i know without a doubt that they are real in every sense of the word. The honesty, the truth, the reality of their nature is beautiful to me. To be with someone who has innumerable facets, each unique and intriguing and sincere, is precious.