And so after I heard the song Extreme Ways by Moby it reminded me on Jason Bourne trilogy, because that song was used as the soundtrack. I was lucky enough to see the first movie and then read all three books during one summer. It was a great summer, a magnificent trip, and I felt nostalgic. Anyway, these days my grim mood has been coming back, and with it, my need to over analyze every single thing. My train of thoughts was rather simple: the song -> Jason Bourne -> amnesia -> and all of the ‘oh so very crucial and deep philosophical things about life’ (and every time I get there I hit the bottom, but nevertheless I can never seem to stop doing that).

And so I was wondering… Imagine waking up one day somewhere new without knowing who you are. Wouldn’t that be the most amazing and real escape ever? Forget about everything and everyone and start anew, while trying to remember. And the most important thing that seems to really bother me: What would I think about myself and my life while discovering everything about it once again, as a complete outsider? Maybe it would help me realize what I really wanted to do with my life. Maybe, and more probably, it’s stupid to even think about it…

On another note, if it wasn’t for 24 and irish dancing, I’d probably go crazy. That’s it for now… I should start blogging again!

I’m sitting on a chair, at my desk, taking the most unpleasant body position one could ever imagine, and I am reading this super exciting book on my computer. (The book I read today was Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk, and if you liked the movie, I highly recommend reading the book, it has a great dark, gloomy feeling – enough said.) I’m slowly going over the pages until all of a sudden..

*POOF!*

..and I’m out. I no longer see words, only images, crystal clear images in my mind and a completely new world, I can touch, smell, feel… I am not aware of what’s going on around me, It’s like I get disconnected from the real world. I see everything, every little detail, I picture every single thing.  And it’s so scarily real I can hardly get out even when I stop reading. It happens more often than that. I don’t necessarily need to read at all. I create all these worlds inside my mind, and they’re just as real, sometimes it’s hard to make a difference between my reality and everyone else’s. It takes only five seconds of silence and…

*POOF!*

..I’m gone, and if no one distracts me I can be gone for hours. I guess that’s one of the reasons why I like to travel. I sometimes get on the bus, and just go around and around the city, or I just walk, completely lost in my own thoughts and my own worlds. I can never be bored when left alone, pictures in my mind are so vivid, that they’re not even pictures they look more like distant memories of something that really happened. The same thing happens when I’m talking with someone…

*POOF!*

…and all their problems, experiences, adventures, instantly become mine. I can relate to everything being said and I can feel the empathy like no one else. It makes me think of all the different lives I lived and all these things I’ve been through, even though it wasn’t really me but a book character or one of my friends. Their experiences make me look wise because I manage to take them over, and make them mine. My dreams are like that too…

*POOF!*

..and I start wondering if something really happened at all or I just had a dream about it or was the certain thought born in one of my day dreaming fantasies. Did I really say something to someone, or did I just intend to, or pretend to? Did something happen in real life or was it just a bunch of pictures played inside my mind only?  There is no clear distinction. I can also replay something that really happened inside my head over and over again to every tiny little detail, I can as well change some details if I really want to, overwrite my memory  – I am an observer that doesn’t miss a thing…

*POOF!*

..and I’m still wondering, If I could wake up in a different place, at a different time, could I wake up as a different person..?

We tend to measure our happiness by certain standards set up by other people and society in general and we compare the quality of our lives with other people’s lives. Seeing happy, satisfied people doesn’t make us feel good if we don’t already. On the contrary! I can’t say it makes us jealous, but rather sad because we don’t have something somebody else does.

If everyone around me is happy it will remind me just how sad and lonely I am. I happen to think a lot of people are more satisfied with their lives than I have ever been. And, truth to be told, if I didn’t know what all there is to it I would never feel bad about mine. There are so many interesting lives out there, so many different stories I would like to be a part of, even just for a little while. I just need to get away from everything. And that feeling is growing stronger everyday for the past couple of years, that I am afraid I will actually do something “stupid” in order to set myself free from these boundaries.

I know we ought to accept the things we cannot change and we shall have courage to change the ones we can, but what if the difference between the two is too tiny to make a clear judgment? Or what if you know something can be changed but you just can’t risk doing anything about it or you don’t know how or where to start?

My depression never had an obvious reason, it’s just a dark feeling of everything crashing and falling apart, that seems to come and go just like that.

Someone once told me that life is supposed to be more than a sum of its pieces. I am having trouble seeing the whole thing, life has always been too divided to make any connection between all the different parts. As I grow older, it’s getting more and more differentiated, so much that I forget about the beginning and wonder if I’m still in the same book. It seems to me that everything is changing as I go through different chapters, the story, the characters, the mood…everything! Almost like the only thing that always stays and never changes is myself. Or is even that true?

It’s sad to think that, at one point in time, all this I’m going through right now will stay in the past, including the story and all its characters. In the end, there will be so many chapters that it will be hard to sum them up into something meaningful. Or is there a bigger picture at all?

Someone once told me I am not supposed to mix social circles. And really, who wants to see the same old characters in a new, completely different story, interfering with all the new characters, right? Those chapters are meant to stay separated, cause each had its own conclusion.

I don’t like the endings, conclusions always make me sad, and some chapters are too short to enjoy them especially when you know that they will certainly end, it’s a just a matter of time. Sometimes I feel like bringing the old chapters back. Sometimes I feel like making a new story with the old characters. Sometimes I just feel a need to connect everything and make it more meaningful that way, even though I know it can never work out. I still try, sometimes, but life stays nothing more than a sum of all the different pieces…