About The Essay.
“SHE” is an essay about being in your head. It’s about looking at oneself from an outside perspective. It talks about mental health and how it can sometimes make us feel like we don’t belong in our own bodies. The essay is the 1st essay from a series of essays that talk about similar struggles about dealing with mental health and the world.
It’s not always that I lose myself. Well, the feeling is something that I haven’t had much taste of but somehow it tastes like metal. The cold, hard metal. But who am I to be lost? Who am I to be found? These are the days when I contemplate my existence, well not just mine, but of the entire world. The illusions of reality, the delusions of fiction, and the intoxication of hypocrisy seem to eat me nowadays. The constant confusion that is my mind and my place in it. The fact that I seem to exist makes me wonder how I do it in the first place? Am I the body that walks, talks, eats, prays, or am I the consciousness that thinks, debates, loves, cares, and hates? Who am I to myself?
My identity is not something I wish to dwell upon a lot, because to me, identity is a fatal flaw. Something that is just there because we are here, well the part of us that built society and still contribute to its whims on a regular basis but when I look at her, the person that she is, she seems too good and too lonely to believe in love and society. She is there, a pale creature that she is, with her hooked chin, full cheeks, brown doe eyes, and hair that is long enough to tell she is a ‘she’. I belong to her, but yet, she doesn’t see me inside herself. She is the human that eats, prays, and loves. To the world that she lives in, she is the perfect angel. And just as the hypocritical insect that she is, she despises herself.
Yet she thinks, she thinks about the life that she lives, she believes in her version of god, and she loves in the ways she wishes to be loved. She dreams big, and yet all she wishes to do is run in the endless mountains or be swept by lifelong ocean waves. She is here and yet she is there. When I look at her, I see a part of myself, a part that displays itself on the window shop to attract the passers-by. A part of her that is visible to the naked eye, for what is naked is yet to be simplified, she is the one that walks while I am the one that thinks.
There is a certain comfort in life that we all wish to feel, love, and happiness for instance is something that we like to find comfort in. We like to think that love is fluid and happiness is a form of luck that can be found in a lifetime. There is more to her though, not just the one that attracts but she is in pain. Pain deeper than she could physically feel, although I remind her of that pain sometimes, it’s something I feel constantly and yet am only able to project a few times. There is beauty in pain though, it reveals the world as it is meant to be, lifeless and unexpectant. Pain that more spiritual than it is mental or physical. It’s the pain that I feel and yet there is no control over it. Control, another one of those funny words that either give responsibility or buries a man’s soul. And yet, control is something that all of them seek. Control over their lives, their feelings, and their desires.
She desires too, for love so pure that makes her forget of who she is, love that capitulates, yet she hasn’t a clue what love really is. She is burdened by it sadly, constantly in war to find love or happiness for that matter. She has read, she has heard and yet the conclusion she comes to is inconclusive and there she is on the bright gray concrete, lying, lifeless, and still. Her image is that of a person who has given up trying. A creature that lies there almost dead, because sometimes I too am considered to be life. A burden lies above her, the weight of which pins her down and chokes her, the burden of dreams, love, hope, happiness, expectations, and the years that still are ahead of her. A burden that turns into a void which she passes onto me while she continues to live.
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