i wake
paralysed by fear
triggered
by nothing more than
light
sound
smell
and the obligation
to persist
forcing my eyes
to stay open
until it’s time
once again
to sleep

unable to cope
the broken man
hides at home
writing a poetry
about a life
he is too afraid
to live

I don’t know why, but I feel the need to write something down. And then to share it. So I guess you my dear reader are invited to take a journey into the stream of consciousness that is this piece…

I’m not well. I feel fundamentally flawed. Like this world expects more of me than I can give. That in order to fit in and survive, I need to change myself, to alter the very thing that makes me, me.

Medication…

How soon should you disclose your mental illness?

This question is something I tackle every time I’m entering into a new relationship. Share your truth too soon and you scare people off. Attempt to mask and you inevitably watch it crumble. Either way, you risk being left alone…

That poem is the sum output of my day’s experiences. That, as well as this post.

There is no point to this post, other than to chronicle my feelings, namely, just how pointless everything feels….

Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds. - J. Robert Oppenheimer

There is a theory of alternate realities that posits that whenever a decision is made, two universes split off and start divergent timelines. In one universe you chose left, and in the other you chose right kind of deal. If you consider this from a singular point of view, accounting for all the decisions you make in just one day, the number of universes you are creating is astronomical. When you multiply that number by all the decisions everyone is making simultaneously, as well as their downstream consequences, the number of possible universes being created according to this theory is basically infinite.

So, what does this have to do with Oppenheimer?