I accepted that everything I would do is infinitesimal and every time I try, I would be left with the melancholia, coming right after a re-realization of the true scale of suffering.
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I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly.- goodness is incompatible with life, I have decomposed myself in order to be good
Your words feel heavy yet beautifully clear, a reminder that even small efforts persevere. The melancholia you speak of is painfully true, but perhaps it’s proof of the strength within you...
YanıtlaSilthere is no strength. nothing perseveres. vivid memories of pain.
Sila dot in an infinite line of suffering, -very far away from my own dot. This line, one could not even distinguish them dots from each other. - I sometimes do not think about this at all. All those ideas I cannot fully accept, theyn assign meaning to tragedies. I dont have any problem with that. I 'usually' do not care anyway. However, if I care for a single tragedy even for a moment, slightly; others find me. I realize how much I might care more, and this overwhelms me. Melancholia hacks me down
Your words made me question something I’ve held onto for so long: why I see melancholia as a force, not a prison. You describe it as something suffocating, and I can’t deny that. It weighs us down. Isolates us. Makes us feel like we’re nothing more than a fleeting moment on an endless, indifferent line. But isn’t it melancholia that makes us write, reflect, and see the world more deeply? Perhaps it is both: a prison when it consumes us, and a force when we find a way to live with it. I don’t think melancholia is trying to hack you down -it’s trying to remind you of how much you care, even if that care feels overwhelming. You speak as though melancholia is the inevitable shadow, something that follows every effort to care. And yet, isn’t it proof of how human you are? Your existence, infinitesimal as it may seem, ripples through that line of dots, indistinguishable but undeniably there. If nothing perseveres, then why does pain cling so stubbornly to your memory? Why does it matter so much to you that others find you when you care, if not because you feel the undeniable pull of connection to those other dots? Perhaps melancholia isn’t a hack cutting you down but the weight reminding you what it means to stand-not strength in the loud, obvious way, but resilience. The quiet kind. The kind that lets you care, even when it feels like too much. The kind that lets you feel, even when it hurts. And while you might believe there is no strength, I see it in every word you’ve written. Melancholia hacks you down, ok -but isn’t there something significant in knowing you can stand again, even if only to write these words? If nothing else, they persevere. And through them, so do you. Maybe melancholia isn’t an enemy to be fought but a part of you asking to be understood. What if we could live with it -not as a prison, but as proof that we are alive?
Silbeautifully written. thanks. but still...
SilI know I will live through my tiny moment, through struggles and little consolations- but without hope. I know I -can-, even that... is so weird... What I was saying is not about our perspective towards melancholia- i know not to fight with it. It is about this experience, about caring for something far away from ourselves. that's all. your message- such a great consolation. but it would not change anything. suppose buddhists are right , souls are changing in each cycle and there is a purpose for all this pain. i bet it is a much better consolation- also such a great desensitizer. they probably care much less about the pain of some guy far away. but if they care even for a moment just like i did, why would they not about the actual infinite pain. it's just the logical result- which brings melancholia to me. so it is just an observation. the way it is.
SilYour words linger, like an echo of something so vast it can’t be fully grasped, and I don’t think I could ever argue with them -not that I would want to. Sometimes, the way it is… just is. That’s a hard truth to carry, but I can tell you carry it with clarity and care, even if it feels unbearable at times. I don’t have answers or counterpoints. Maybe that’s not what this is about anyway. But reading your thoughts makes me wonder if, in all the infinite pain, there’s also an infinite understanding waiting to be found -not in fighting or changing anything, but in noticing the quiet moments that exist in between. And if these moments ever pull you back to the page, I’d love to see what you write next. Not because I expect answers or hope to change anything, but because your words hold the kind of weight that reshapes the air around them. They stay. They stay in ways that make you feel like you’ve stepped into another mind for just a moment. Maybe that’s all I wanted to say. Just that I see the weight of your words, and I appreciate them for what they are, and for where they come from.
Silis this ai? do i know you
SilOuch, didn’t notice my opinions were that boring to be considered as a robot’s… but if I were AI, would I tell you???
Sil