Tuesday, 4 August 2020

I'm like Camus's outsider (4th August 1997, Vienna)

I'm like Camus's outsider, I can't feel anything. He is executed not for the murder, but because he showed no emotion at his mother's death; you've got to show emotion to please them. If your emotions are numbed and you cannot show them on the surface, you will be punished viciously. I am emotionally dead, numb. I'm frozen. Camus's outsider wants to be abused by the crowd as he is hung, I understand this perfectly.
I have abnormal psychology, I can't feel anything.
The governing impulse of my life is to stay away from other people at all times. I know my lack of feelings will invite their incredible abuse and punishment, so rather stay away so they never find out. Keep the mask on so they don't see there is nothing underneath.
A little elastic band hasn't become a big elastic band. As soon as our 50 minutes is up, and you let go, it snaps back to being a small one again. We live in your little make believe world, and you try to kid me it's a big elastic band. It's still the same elastic band. Wouldn't it be better if we both accepted that reality. You pretending the small is big. Perhaps you think I'm pretending big is small. We see things differently, obviously.
My brain is full of holes, like Swiss cheese. I can't grasp things, and form coherent relationships, everything breaks down, fragments, falls apart. There's big empty spaces between me and other people.


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