For quite a while, it must be years already, I am thinking and thinking and thinking. About writing a story, writing a book. My book? Maybe. A book about my mother, her life? How I became who I am, how it happened, that I am me. With my problems. My insecurities. Me, with my strength, desires and frustration. Why thoughts keep me up at night if I sleep at home and why I only need to close my eyes to drift away if I am out in the woods. About my relations, my reasons for committing and my fear from commitment.<\/p>\n
I wanted to focus on things that do not feel good. Collecting them, writing them down and discussing them while that seemed to be what would make myself for me more transparent, how I could become less restless, less driven to understanding why I function the way I do. So many bad things happened in my life, so much traumatizing experience, I cried so much and my tears evaporated, leaving me alone, crying even more.<\/p>\n
But I don’t think that I have the energy and the time to do all that. No time to write a book, no time to debate all of that and no time to clear out all this symptoms. For I found the source and beginning of it all. And especially because of that source. What limits me from writing about my troubles is also the source of my troubles. It is the endless struggle of survival in a totalitarian, destructive social and economic environment.<\/p>\n
No, I was not born within a paradise. Still, my early childhood is the closest that I ever came to the experience of lightness, irresponsibility, happiness. To fill my life with waking up, eating, playing and sharing social relations with others. Oh how happy can I be, so clearly fulfilled my basic desires and so little, oh so little weight on my shoulders. No disease to pull me to the ground. No pollution of my air that makes me coughing, dying an early, crippled death off COPD. No pictures of war, rape, murder and no direct contact to any victims or concerned by that. No triggering thought or image would break my laughter and drive my tears out ripping my heart apart.<\/p>\n
Slowly but constant, like a meteorite shower, reality came over me and with every rock falling onto my skin a bruise, with each rock a scar and after every scar a skin that grew bigger, stronger. Harder became my shell and harder became my core, cooling myself down.<\/p>\n
Thinking about it I do not feel regret or remorse. The past is the past. And the future is unwritten. What I have is the present moment and how I spend it I would like to decide myself. Too bad we are not in wish-country. My past caches up with me a lot. A big part of my time I spend interacting with it. A big part is about digesting it, about getting used to it. About numbing myself, about deadening myself.<\/p>\n
I spend enough time on it to disable me from working 8 hours a day. Enough time to make it very hard to keep a good set of social relationships. I spend way more time on that then I would actually like to but I can not decide about it. I can not decide about living my life the way I want because my past and what happened to me in my past is hunting me every second, every day.<\/p>\n
This is not fair and I demand retribution!<\/p>\n
I want time. I want money and I want care. Especially I want nobody to press me into working, nobody to force me to take part in this society. I want this way of life to stop from happening and I want everybody else free from it as much as I want it for myself. Hey, all of you, responsible people! You, who wreck the life of others, you who support the structures that destroy the kids inside of us. Retribution! To all of you who fight with your past, demand! Claim your life, reclaim your past. Defend your time, do not sell it for others, do not wast it on causing even more harm!<\/p>\n
I ask of you, I beg you and I demand it from you, give me at least the possibility to fight my past. Leave me alone with that bureaucracy, with your work fetish and with your false excuses, that “if only everybody would take part this society would work”. I am not everybody.<\/p>\n
And I will not make this society work!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Life is hard because of the traumas that capitalism leaves within us. Especially if that keeps us from taking part in capitalism. I am a lost cause to it.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":4014,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,4,9],"tags":[98,343,531,592,646],"class_list":["post-3914","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-english","category-noahs-brains","category-problem","tag-capitalism","tag-life","tag-society","tag-trauma","tag-work"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.noahessl.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3914","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.noahessl.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.noahessl.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.noahessl.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.noahessl.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3914"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/blog.noahessl.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3914\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.noahessl.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4014"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.noahessl.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3914"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.noahessl.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3914"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.noahessl.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3914"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}