The quick sand of my mind

The icy breaths that leave my mouth on a miserably cold morning is the only accurate reflection of the emotions that stir within.

I see messages proclaiming that love is the answer to the world’s problems, but they don’t realise that most don’t know how to love. It’s the arrogance of the assumption that if we had it, they must have had it too.

I met a calloused soul today. One who was so steeped in her victim-hood, that she couldn’t grasp her contribution towards the destruction of an innocent soul. So vile was her gaul, that she stepped forward uninvited to offer comfort towards the crushed innocent, completely oblivious to her contribution towards the state in which she found the little one.

Such is the dementia of those who believe themselves to be above reproach because they didn’t actively participate in the abuse of the meek, but only sat quietly on the sidelines observing it play out, waiting patiently for their moment to leech significance by offering comfort to the one whom they abandoned in their moment of need.

The bile rises to my throat, desperately wanting to clothe such contemptuous beings in the only fluid capable of digesting their caustic character. But my desire to be distanced from such hair-encrusted soap scum leaves me seething in my efforts to maintain my composure, torn between wanting to shake some sense into them, while simultaneously convulsing at the thought of touching them.

This world is not big enough to create enough distance between me and them, with death offering the only path to peace.

Sometimes, the most expensive lessons we learn in life are a result of trusting the wrong person. Once more, as I contemplate this reality, I find myself repulsed by those who cast frivolous quotes into the ether of blind optimism and toxic positivity, believing foolishly that doing the right thing will only yield positive results.

If this torturous world was so easily subdued through the persistence of a positive thought, why then do so many innocents destroy themselves in search of such goodness? Why then are the starving still hungry, the abused still defiled, and the gluttonous still leading?

The victim mindset is the greatest oppressor of the kind-hearted. The self-pitying soul is the most ungrateful of them all, and the martyr the saddest.

Tonight, I find myself adrift on an icy lake. Not carried by tranquil waves or exaggerated ripples, but instead, sliding uncontrollably in no particular direction, finding comfort in the movement, but no fulfilment in the futility of its course.

Wishing away reality does not change it. It simply adds it to the burden of those who are more aware of the impact of that which you wish away. Such is the reality of the victim mind set. So focused on its own struggle, that it grows criminally oblivious to the oppression it imposes on those around them. When they withhold their contribution towards uplifting others, they prioritise their efforts of desperation to have their own struggles honoured first.

See my hurt before you ask me to see yours. Such is the pathetic indulgence of those who believe that their struggle is the only struggle of such epic proportions that lesser mortals will crumble if only they had to endure the same fate.

Thus, surrendering to fate becomes the ultimate protest of the coward. The one who abandons rationality and choice in favour of embellishing their selfishness with a cloak of proclaimed vulnerability.

I feel the bile rising again.

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