did I write this?
In life, I was instead told to understand solutions of things to happen and things that will not. This means everything is in jeopardy and it is I who has made it that way. I am to fix it, not anyone or anything, but me. Everyday I am to go and fix something that takes hours upon hours; yet I am a bad man and no sympathy comes from it. Yes, the definition of a bad man is nothing. Nothing can be explained by things that are, I am to understand. This tells me that explanations are not always what you want them to be and I was unexplainable. It seems that I and me and me and I were in a world of nothing that only we inhabited.
I wrote this as a young child, probably, judging from my handwriting, around the age of 11. And I’m stuck between thinking it’s deeply profound and wondering what on earth I was on when I put this paragraph together. I have no idea why or how I wrote this. It seems too philosophical for my young mind, and yet when I look closer, the deeply disconnected lines betray my habitual lack of cohesion.
I still don’t know quite what to think of it. It feels a bit like I just let myself write, like I didn’t pause to think about the words as they were starting to pour out. I have done this at other times, as an older person, in pieces of writing I’ve titled ‘notes from my demon,’ because that’s exactly how they sounded. But this doesn’t feel the same. And so it perplexes me.
It does betray some aspects of my psyche that are a little curious, such as the fixer element and the fact I’m calling myself bad and unexplainable. These aspects I only explored recently as intrinsic parts of myself, so it’s interesting to see hints of them here already.
I wonder if I’ll ever find out what I was getting at, or if I ever discover the thing I was referencing/quoting.
~nan