Time: The Currency Traded for Nothing

Nigredo

I need to leave tonight; I need to run away from myself.

I wish I could talk, but I feel abandoned; I see no one who shares my thoughts.

How lonely it is to think alone; it’s lonelier than pondering lonely itself.

It’s a time to rethink old behaviors and define who truly deserves your time, ear, and voice.

Some people are so shallow you can see the bottom! The actual bottom of those who project such superficiality. You can’t even dive in!

Today, I thought I should write every night because I’ve tried drugs, and not even they worked.

Stepping outside allows us to learn so much more about what dwells inside. And inside me, thoughts simmer endlessly, bubbling like vapor in a pressure cooker. But, when they’re about to erupt in a deafening burst, an oppressive hand lifts the valve, letting it all out quietly, subtly, with no noise, no mess.

And so, nothing becomes clear; nothing fulfills its purpose.

I need to run away from myself; I can’t stand living anymore!

The sensationalists, therapists, and my mother will say I intend to commit suicide, but my dear ones, I’m already dead—we all are—buried in coffins of illusions.

Look at this world. Everything follows its course, but we’ve disrupted the flow of it all.

We possess the gift of destruction and wield it for all purposes, including destroying ourselves.

We choose complexity over nature. We fail to see how precious time is and trade it for anything.

We trade it for the latest phone and branded jeans; we often trade it for a house that will belong to the bank for 30 years.

Do you see how nothing truly belongs to us except time, which we give away so freely?

And the most remarkable thing is that we find subversive loves, we perform in a tragicomedy, and we bid farewell to time—the only thing we truly have here.

Today, many people are aware of this. We live in an era of complaints and laments with little action.

We value safety over happiness.

I’m furious at myself for being such a coward of a human being.

For being, like almost everyone else, trapped in an impenetrable martyrdom and endless anguish, but with no significant role in this unfortunate play.

I’m not free to be what I want; I’m not free to be who I am.

Many find my ideas absurd or out of sync with the times.

Many say, “Just be grateful for what you have; so many wish they had what you do!”

How I despise this phrase! I treat it with the same disdain as “You’re so pretty; why do you drink so much?”

To die drunk, damn it! So I never have to hear such idiocies again.

What kind of world is this, where people trade their precious time to serve mechanical, robotic purposes for others?

We’re told to be “beautiful,” but beautiful in a way that doesn’t involve getting drunk because that’s “ugly.”

Here, we’re always a trinket on the shelf of the mansion owned by those in power, who dictate the dinner hour.

We work to earn money to adorn our world with pride and arrogance.

We spend “our” money on gyms, therapy, antidepressants, and other crutches that make life in this wretched world seem bearable. But why do we need these?

Nature demands that we reconnect with ourselves, but the tug-of-war between us and “us” is relentless.

I am, above all, enraged by the undeserved, incoherent title of “human being”...

But even so, I’ll say this: I’m building up pressure, and I won’t die before I explode!

Thiara Màtos.