Morgana
Member
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2013
- Messages
- 5
- Reaction score
- 0
Greetings everybody. I’m new, obviously, and I go by Morgana. I’m a 23 years old European girl, still struggling with mastering English (so sorry for eventual mistakes). This is my first time ever joining a forum. I’m so the lurker queen, lol. My only online contribute is by posting my writings, and i’ts been a long time since interacting with others even on the net. I tought hard before participating in this forum and, by the way, this thing is gonna be long. You sure you want to navigate yourself in the conundrums of my mind? Because, kind of a scary place to be.
Anyway. The reason I’m here. I’m alone, as I’ve been for years. Yet it never bothered me. In fact I actively seeked isolation. Since infancy I’ve never had any trouble attracting friends, nor I’ve ever been shy. I guess I could’ve been called a leader in my group until I realized that I couldn’t connect with people the way I wished. Influencing and reading them was easy, but it wasn’t enough: it didn’t make me happy since I couldn’t make myself understood in turn. What I really wanted was the emotional intimacy that only reciprocal knowledge and acceptance bring. Perhaps I was too different, cared too much, or those whom I’ve grown up with were a bit shallow, however it gradually turned me distant. I was mostly disappointed, I guess.
I grew selective in my aquaintaces. I have a knack with psychology and can usually analyze people correctly, so I could choose the keepers. Too bad I became too fastidious. I tend to pretend too much because I have a terribly developed mental world; talking about my hobbies and doings, all things that barely scratch the surface, never held too much interest for me. It seemed empty, like before. I never had a real bond, one of those I read in books, be it friendship or romance: what I needed was something real, not chit-chat out of boringness, and it was only offered to me the latter.
Anyway it’s also my fault. I live the majority of my life in my mental world, reading/thinking/painting/wathever; I’ve always done it, it’s the way I am, so I’m feeling like an iceberg, the visible part it’s not the important one too look at. I’m quite an imperscutable person, so only someone like me, someone who reads this and knows what I’m talking about, could really see me, because the thing which I’m talking about belongs to them too. With the others I stopped trying to explain it. It’s no use, at best it can only be an approximation; how can you describe a feeling which envelopes your whole being when others don’t have experienced it? I’m very black and white on this. I don’t need the (oh to use this expression now curse forever that book) shades of gray. Deep down they’ve always been irrilevant, and I can’t truly care for them because in the end I would still be alone. It would be a lie for both parts and I don’t want to be this petty.
I’ve also a difficult character. I connect with the outside world with my creations, I flatter myself being called artistic but I could be defined more accurately as an eccentric. As eccentric as Poe on a particular inspiring LSD trip. Not so nice, yeah. I’m sarcastic, sometimes to the point of cruelty. I created enemies by openly pointing and laughing at them, and gleefully so. I’m selective to the point of ascetism, rant a lot like Calvin (sadly without Hobbes), I’m cynical but require the ideal. People would find me entertaining till they start saying I’m the female version of H.P Lovecraft. Kind of true - and flattering, actually.
Beside this, the real problem is that I feel too intensely about life and what it should be. I believe I don’t fit in the world as a whole, rather than just being unsociable. I don’t get fashion or mainstream obessions, I don’t care for money or the pretense of politics, I don’t want to have children and I don’t see the point of doing random things for your reputation and basically don’t know what the heck you are doing here on heart in the first place. I’d rather have a freaking discussion about what the heck I’m doing here. Sometime I wish Kant and Plato were alive so there would still interesting people to talk to. Why the majority of those who lived meaningfully are already dead?
I’ll say the worst without giustifications: “people” (and by this term I refer to the standardized views you must to adopt to be “accepted”) are stupid and nonsensical, and I slander them when there’s something too big for not to be sporked. I don’t want to be part of them, I feel disgusted to have to conform to social standard when the pain they cause is as plain as day, when the things that let you get by are those that put a mask on you. And I don’t want to be selfish and think of material happiness when children die starving every second we sit and loiter. I could make a career but what’s the damned point of it? It’s since I’m alive that I ask this, got no answer with various degree of frustrated swears with it. So I rejected the whole system; I’m more concerned if a way to stop the pain and the wrongness is possible than to give in and become a robot. I’m considering to go where there’s need and be useful rather than settling in the first world society, but for now I’m stuck here because my family in primis is struggling and put the responsibility of fixing it on me.
My kind of loneliness is a bit peculiar. I often found myself thinking I was born in the wrong era (not to say in the wrong planet), I should have done good becoming a monk in Tibet or a revolutionist because I can’t stand how things are going. I feel passionately; yes, I have a temper, but its more linked to my search for depth. Life could be experienced so much more intensely that average and the things people normally do don’t cut it for me. People look at me and say that I’m foolish wasting my time sitting and thinking, and I say they are fools because they don’t know how vast your mind can be, how boundless your existence can become. And yet I also always wanted to reach to them.
I used my penchant for psychology to find and help those who seemed to need it; somebody on the verge of break down, or hey, omicide. The “intresting” ones. With time I learned that I was waiting for the same to be done to me, or that, in reading persons I was not merely helping, but searching to find something for myself. Maybe an equal who did the same to me. I was looking for the particular sensation that usually I found only in art. The feeling that the sight of a painting arouse, or a song that moves you, or reading a special book that becomes part of yourself; thats the sensation I’m talking about. Didn’t find it, and I just stopped it. I guess that I did wanted to be found for once. Ence, total isolation, which I wanted to experience in its fullness: I wanted to understand myself because no one else could. I cut all social contact and became a loner, and that was it. Since I could do without the world but not without my mind and feeling, I had everything I needed. That’s was also why it was such a Gladiator worthy fight with myself to post here. What decided me was the fact that it’s been only me and my abstractions since I was 16, and being 23 now, possibly I’ll even end up dying like this. Well, that made me sorry for myself. I appreciate being alone, but I also still crave that true connection with something outside of me. So here I am, rambling on what the heck I’m doing here, lol. I don’t want to give up yet. It’s more than six billion people, I’m acutely aware we are lonely in different ways, with different needs to extinguish it, but the way I feel must have been familiar to someone, sometime. And perhaps they are too looking for something, even if it’s only a better understanding for what they are feeling. I guess i’m not looking for buddies or comfort. I wrote this long purposefully, to see if a person like me reflect him/herself in what they read. I wanted to verify if this little piece of me belongs to another person too. And IF it so, then it would be precious to me to get to know them.
There’s another reason for why i’m here: it eats me seeing suffering faces, be emphatically close to them and not move a finger. Maybe what I want for my happiness is impossible, but I can still support somebody. Those who have tasted loneliness and the rawness of pain know that what is truly important in life is being loved and accepeted. I can still be useful for those looking for help. Life can be so hard, and we are so unforgiving on each other. I don’t want to let those who are facing my same trials think that they can only ever find rejection. There exist those who care, even if we don’t known each other personally. It would have been good for me to meet someone who had the same belief, or awareness, in person. And I sympathize with those who were met with hate or indifference. So, the gist of it is thus: I’m searching for a kindred spirit but also offering my friendship to those who need it. You know I really mean it with all my heart by the sheer crazy length of this post. And If you have read this far I hope you do too.
All the best,
Morgana
Anyway. The reason I’m here. I’m alone, as I’ve been for years. Yet it never bothered me. In fact I actively seeked isolation. Since infancy I’ve never had any trouble attracting friends, nor I’ve ever been shy. I guess I could’ve been called a leader in my group until I realized that I couldn’t connect with people the way I wished. Influencing and reading them was easy, but it wasn’t enough: it didn’t make me happy since I couldn’t make myself understood in turn. What I really wanted was the emotional intimacy that only reciprocal knowledge and acceptance bring. Perhaps I was too different, cared too much, or those whom I’ve grown up with were a bit shallow, however it gradually turned me distant. I was mostly disappointed, I guess.
I grew selective in my aquaintaces. I have a knack with psychology and can usually analyze people correctly, so I could choose the keepers. Too bad I became too fastidious. I tend to pretend too much because I have a terribly developed mental world; talking about my hobbies and doings, all things that barely scratch the surface, never held too much interest for me. It seemed empty, like before. I never had a real bond, one of those I read in books, be it friendship or romance: what I needed was something real, not chit-chat out of boringness, and it was only offered to me the latter.
Anyway it’s also my fault. I live the majority of my life in my mental world, reading/thinking/painting/wathever; I’ve always done it, it’s the way I am, so I’m feeling like an iceberg, the visible part it’s not the important one too look at. I’m quite an imperscutable person, so only someone like me, someone who reads this and knows what I’m talking about, could really see me, because the thing which I’m talking about belongs to them too. With the others I stopped trying to explain it. It’s no use, at best it can only be an approximation; how can you describe a feeling which envelopes your whole being when others don’t have experienced it? I’m very black and white on this. I don’t need the (oh to use this expression now curse forever that book) shades of gray. Deep down they’ve always been irrilevant, and I can’t truly care for them because in the end I would still be alone. It would be a lie for both parts and I don’t want to be this petty.
I’ve also a difficult character. I connect with the outside world with my creations, I flatter myself being called artistic but I could be defined more accurately as an eccentric. As eccentric as Poe on a particular inspiring LSD trip. Not so nice, yeah. I’m sarcastic, sometimes to the point of cruelty. I created enemies by openly pointing and laughing at them, and gleefully so. I’m selective to the point of ascetism, rant a lot like Calvin (sadly without Hobbes), I’m cynical but require the ideal. People would find me entertaining till they start saying I’m the female version of H.P Lovecraft. Kind of true - and flattering, actually.
Beside this, the real problem is that I feel too intensely about life and what it should be. I believe I don’t fit in the world as a whole, rather than just being unsociable. I don’t get fashion or mainstream obessions, I don’t care for money or the pretense of politics, I don’t want to have children and I don’t see the point of doing random things for your reputation and basically don’t know what the heck you are doing here on heart in the first place. I’d rather have a freaking discussion about what the heck I’m doing here. Sometime I wish Kant and Plato were alive so there would still interesting people to talk to. Why the majority of those who lived meaningfully are already dead?
I’ll say the worst without giustifications: “people” (and by this term I refer to the standardized views you must to adopt to be “accepted”) are stupid and nonsensical, and I slander them when there’s something too big for not to be sporked. I don’t want to be part of them, I feel disgusted to have to conform to social standard when the pain they cause is as plain as day, when the things that let you get by are those that put a mask on you. And I don’t want to be selfish and think of material happiness when children die starving every second we sit and loiter. I could make a career but what’s the damned point of it? It’s since I’m alive that I ask this, got no answer with various degree of frustrated swears with it. So I rejected the whole system; I’m more concerned if a way to stop the pain and the wrongness is possible than to give in and become a robot. I’m considering to go where there’s need and be useful rather than settling in the first world society, but for now I’m stuck here because my family in primis is struggling and put the responsibility of fixing it on me.
My kind of loneliness is a bit peculiar. I often found myself thinking I was born in the wrong era (not to say in the wrong planet), I should have done good becoming a monk in Tibet or a revolutionist because I can’t stand how things are going. I feel passionately; yes, I have a temper, but its more linked to my search for depth. Life could be experienced so much more intensely that average and the things people normally do don’t cut it for me. People look at me and say that I’m foolish wasting my time sitting and thinking, and I say they are fools because they don’t know how vast your mind can be, how boundless your existence can become. And yet I also always wanted to reach to them.
I used my penchant for psychology to find and help those who seemed to need it; somebody on the verge of break down, or hey, omicide. The “intresting” ones. With time I learned that I was waiting for the same to be done to me, or that, in reading persons I was not merely helping, but searching to find something for myself. Maybe an equal who did the same to me. I was looking for the particular sensation that usually I found only in art. The feeling that the sight of a painting arouse, or a song that moves you, or reading a special book that becomes part of yourself; thats the sensation I’m talking about. Didn’t find it, and I just stopped it. I guess that I did wanted to be found for once. Ence, total isolation, which I wanted to experience in its fullness: I wanted to understand myself because no one else could. I cut all social contact and became a loner, and that was it. Since I could do without the world but not without my mind and feeling, I had everything I needed. That’s was also why it was such a Gladiator worthy fight with myself to post here. What decided me was the fact that it’s been only me and my abstractions since I was 16, and being 23 now, possibly I’ll even end up dying like this. Well, that made me sorry for myself. I appreciate being alone, but I also still crave that true connection with something outside of me. So here I am, rambling on what the heck I’m doing here, lol. I don’t want to give up yet. It’s more than six billion people, I’m acutely aware we are lonely in different ways, with different needs to extinguish it, but the way I feel must have been familiar to someone, sometime. And perhaps they are too looking for something, even if it’s only a better understanding for what they are feeling. I guess i’m not looking for buddies or comfort. I wrote this long purposefully, to see if a person like me reflect him/herself in what they read. I wanted to verify if this little piece of me belongs to another person too. And IF it so, then it would be precious to me to get to know them.
There’s another reason for why i’m here: it eats me seeing suffering faces, be emphatically close to them and not move a finger. Maybe what I want for my happiness is impossible, but I can still support somebody. Those who have tasted loneliness and the rawness of pain know that what is truly important in life is being loved and accepeted. I can still be useful for those looking for help. Life can be so hard, and we are so unforgiving on each other. I don’t want to let those who are facing my same trials think that they can only ever find rejection. There exist those who care, even if we don’t known each other personally. It would have been good for me to meet someone who had the same belief, or awareness, in person. And I sympathize with those who were met with hate or indifference. So, the gist of it is thus: I’m searching for a kindred spirit but also offering my friendship to those who need it. You know I really mean it with all my heart by the sheer crazy length of this post. And If you have read this far I hope you do too.
All the best,
Morgana
I don't want to ramble. Anyway I really liked your thoughts and hope to speak to you more soon.
