December 16, 2023
When my brain starts to convulse, my thoughts begin to go crazy. Madness grows wildly, filling and repairing all my gray memories.
From the darkness at the beginning of the year, the scattered stars before the darkness, to the current confusion, everything seems familiar, with no peaceful days. Why isn’t pain a form of artistic expression? When I laugh bitterly, it’s still a laugh; in a sense of inexplicable oppression, I swing my fist toward the world filled with cotton, and at that moment, anyone who comes close to me will be attacked.
Dots of powerlessness: I am powerless to deal with the trivialities in my life, I am powerless to manage the trifles in my life, I am powerless to fulfill the plans I once made, and I am powerless to simultaneously pursue my profession and my passions.
I constantly think of retreat, constantly worry about how it will end, and constantly contemplate how to face my own world. I am never satisfied with my life, constantly worrying about trivial matters and trivialities.
When I envy others, I can also smell my own decay. The contrast of this world makes me feel ashamed and terrified, leading to the conclusion: I can’t do it, I can’t do many things well, I can’t do what I want to do, and it’s too difficult, too hard.
Depleted inspiration, mediocre skills, a state of laziness, slow progress, and plans that change constantly, corroding bit by bit, corroding those grand daydreams of mine. Sooner or later, one day, a huge spotlight will illuminate the worst, ugliest, and poorest parts, and a loudspeaker will tell others: this is you.
Two or three months pass like a revolving lantern in front of me, like waking up from a dream and finding that I am still that baby, still that naked, crying me, achieving nothing but always with a hint of inexplicable confidence.
I always dislike winter, a season that brings me nothing. It only brings cold, darkness, and laziness, biological instinctive hibernation, endless pain, and memories carried by pain.
Almost all the pain mostly comes from winter.
I remembered middle school, the painful winter, a winter that lasted for seven months. Crossing five kilometers of snow at six in the morning, on an empty street where no one even noticed when I slipped and fell with my electric bike for over ten meters. The painful forehead, the numb fingers, the pitch-black school gate, and of course, the numb feet.
Entering the classroom, I had to unwrap myself like a mummy; the black ceiling and my classmates sat drowsily together, dazedly as if back to the evening classes of monks in the temple when they were children. Then a group of people began to “passionately” recite their words.
At noon, I couldn’t help but feel dizzy, feeling like I was about to faint from hunger, with low blood pressure and low blood sugar accompanied by drowsiness, and looking up to see the vast whiteness outside. It was a highly aggressive white, a signal of cold pain, and also a kind of fear, a fear that southern classmates could never understand. The wind and snow were invisible like a knife, and any injury on ordinary days would be intensified in the snow. In the cold winter, it was the temperature barrier between me and home. I collapsed on the desk, letting my blood and strength slowly gather from nothingness to face the next five kilometers ahead.
Cold and darkness, these two things wrapped up my entire high school life, I couldn’t even see or remember the faces of those friends, and then I was buried in the endless competition day and night. Not classmates, just competitors under the same roof.
Unconsciously, three years passed, followed by another year and a half of imprisonment, and finally the Enlightenment of the Renaissance—I began to gradually understand the world.
Oh, the world doesn’t have to be so dark.
And I, have exhausted all my efforts.